


Designs on the Web

by fabricdragon



Series: soft as silk, stronger than steel [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Asperger's Sherlock, Autism Spectrum, BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Demisexual Sherlock, Dominance, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, First Time Blow Jobs, For Science!, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Sherlock Holmes on the Asexuality Spectrum, Shibari, Strength Kink, Submission, Threats, Top Sebastian Moran, Voyeurism, dear god i dont believe this fic, i dunno, non graphic torture, none of the BAD stuff is between the partners its all other people, not entirely scripted out so it could go differently than i think, seriously? how did this happen, so far anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 35,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9147904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Begins after Sherlock was  exiled after shooting Magnussen.Some very not good people  are doing very not good things, which forces Sebastian Moran and Sherlock Holmes to work together.This does NOT take place in the same universe as my Bond/Sherlock crossover "Smooth Criminal"(even if i decide to bring in the Bond universe, it would be a different one)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mickie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/gifts).



Sebastian Moran slowly woke up, which he regretted. _They were getting more creative with the tortures, and less careful.  I suppose they’re desperate._   That thought amused him. They were getting sloppier, too.  He supposed they thought he wasn’t much of a threat anymore.

He looked at the IV line.  He could kill himself with that.   He weighed his options, again.  It hadn’t been that long. They were trying to confuse his sense of time, but it hadn’t been that long, a couple of weeks? No more than a month.

He was Sebastian Moran, Jim Moriarty’s heir, and he wasn’t going to let these bastards get hold of his web.  He would hold out, for a while longer.

*

Sherlock Holmes wished dearly that he could believe in sentiment‑ to be more precise, he wished he could believe that anyone in his family had any sentiment; however, wishing, and sentiment, and hope, and silly things like that had no place for a Holmes.  His brother had exiled him to what was almost certain suicide; it was up to him to survive it.

At least his actions had bought his friends, and yes even his brother, more time now that Magnusson was dead.

_Friends.  What a horrible concept._

*

Back in London, John Hamish Watson sat next to his wife.  Sherlock was gone‑ again‑ and this time his brother wasn’t shielding him. He’d bought them more time to live, a chance to be happy, even after Mary had shot him.  Moriarty had threatened to burn the heart out of Sherlock, but instead it seemed like Sherlock had grown one.  John felt his affection for Mary die from embers to ash.

*

Mycroft Holmes went back to his office, closed up his business for the day, and went to his club.  He needed silence.  Not for the first time, he understood the appeal of  the drugs his brother took.  He wished some days he could dull his mind, just for a few minutes.  The ruthless calculations never stopped.

This was Sherlock’s best chance.  He didn’t know everything that was putting pressure on them all, Mycroft included. He’d bought them time, but only a little.  Mycroft had to solve the rest of it; then‑if Sherlock was still alive‑ he could bring him home.

*

Moriarty’s web had survived the death of Jim Moriarty. Even with Sherlock Holmes cutting threads, the web held: reduced, yes; but stronger‑ the weakest links falling to a dead man.

There were contingencies in place for everything.  When Sebastian Moran was taken, it had cost the kidnappers many of their best men: unbeknownst to the kidnappers, one of the men had survived‑ barely.

Doctors had worked around the clock to save his life, so he could answer questions.  He didn’t know much, but the web was patient, and threads stretched out‑Moran would be found, and his kidnappers trapped and bled dry.

*

Charles Albert Magnussen was dead and his talents dead with him, but so much blackmail information still needed a hard copy.  Many of the people who held the information didn’t know what they had‑yet; some knew, but knew their own information was in another’s hands.  For now‑ stalemate.

But eventually someone would put the information to use. Pressure points are always so valuable.

*

They had been six; now they were five. Blackmail, drugs, slavery, gambling, and more.  They’d left blackmail to Magnussen, mostly‑ he was so very good at it‑ and once Moriarty was out of the way, he’d been their strongest weapon.

Trying to grow a criminal network, they had been forced to deal with Moriarty’s web‑ to dance on his strings in order to get what they needed‑ but they didn’t want to be a part of the web: they wanted to own it.

After Moriarty’s death, they’d been able to break away, and watched as pieces of the web shattered and broke, but not enough.  Sebastian Moran‑ they’d thought him merely a simple killer‑ had been Moriarty’s heir, and he ran the web more carefully than his predecessor, making slower and more certain choices.  He’d kept the central strands intact even as pieces of it burst into flames.

Imagine their surprise when Moriarty’s opponent turned up alive. They’d counted on Magnussen taking him down, but Magnussen had died, and now they were five.

It had cost them too much to capture Moran, but they had.   It had crippled parts of their network‑ they had lost many of their best‑ but he was the key to the web, and they could replace their people if he broke. They hadn’t managed to break him yet.

But there was the one man who had been Moriarty’s opponent, and who they now suspected had been taking apart the web during his apparent death: Sherlock Holmes, the man who had killed one of their number.

And he was being sent away from help…

Once they had him, they could turn him against the web, against Moran, and use him to achieve their ends.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was captured with insulting ease.  He was simply given drugged food on his trip, when his boredom was at its peak and he wasn’t paying attention.  He didn’t wake up until he was secured in an unknown location.  His neck was chained to a chair; the chair was bolted to the floor: simple, effective‑ _but why hadn’t they restrained my arms?_

“What do you want?” Sherlock’s head was splitting, his mouth felt like something had died in it, and he needed a nicotine patch or a smoke so badly his hands were shaking.  He judged he’d been out for at least a day. If they showed themselves, he could get started figuring this out.

A man walked into the light and smiled at him. “We want your help.” _He looked friendly and approachable.  He was a man with no concern for others and he liked cruelty_. Sherlock shivered.

“There are better ways to get it.”

“No, no there aren’t,” he smiled‑ _he was genuinely enjoying this_. “We captured Moriarty’s chief of staff, his heir‑“

Sherlock tensed.  Someone had been doing a very good job of keeping the entire web from being taken apart‑someone who didn’t play games, and didn’t care how much “fun” it was; they had been difficult to deal with.  Jim had been willing to take risks for the game; if Sherlock hadn’t been “dead”, it was very likely they would have found him and simply killed him.

“Did you?” Sherlock looked at him carefully. “Well, you at least believe you did.” He nodded. “Good. What’s that got to do with me?”

“He has been very reluctant to hand over any information.”

“So? Again, what has that got to do with me?”  He tried again to read the man, all he got was amusement at Sherlock’s expense‑ _whatever this was, was going to hurt._

“You went up against Moriarty‑“

“And he isn’t Moriarty,” Sherlock said tiredly. “It’s annoying. He doesn’t play games, but he’s good at what he does.”

The man nodded. “You got him exactly right.”

“So?”

“So you’re going to tell us about the rest of the web.”

“If I knew about it, I would have taken it down already.”

“Oh, I expect there are things you know, and haven’t been able to use… but we will.  More importantly, you’re going to get the answers out of him.”

Sherlock blinked in confusion. “If you haven’t been able to, what makes you think I can?  For that matter, why would I?”

“Since you understood Moriarty better than anyone else, who better?”  The man smiled, and Sherlock felt dirty somehow‑ _this man was worse than Magnusson._

“I won’t help you.”

He moved a table into view‑ Sherlock stopped breathing as he saw what was on it.

“Yes, yes you will,” the man nodded. “I was one of Moriarty’s competitors in the drug trade in England, Sherlock.  Your habits are very well known.”  He prepared the heroin carefully, making certain Sherlock saw every step.

“Don’t try to pretend to fight.  We both know you want it.”

Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off the needle. “I’ve been clean‑“

The man smiled at him. “Yes, yes you have.  Do you want to pretend for a little longer?  Or do you want to give yourself the shot?”

Sherlock closed his eyes then, and looked away.  He didn’t try to fight as the man gave him the shot, and the fear and the pain faded away into soft cotton and happiness.

*

They hadn’t had him back in for torture, and they’d given him enough to eat‑ _they must be planning something_. Sebastian was beginning to wish he’d killed himself when he had the chance. He was beginning to be able to function again.  He wondered what they could have planned that needed him recovered.  He hoped they weren’t going to move up to anything too permanent, other than the new scars he would have.

He lay there, unmoving, when they brought in someone new. He idly wondered which of his lieutenants it was, and why they expected it to move him; he’d learned from Jim, after all. Besides, breaking to spare another pain only meant you both died. The list of people he would die for was very short indeed.

He didn’t bother trying to talk to them; the limp way they’d been dumped on the floor spoke volumes. Much to Sebastian’s surprise, the man rolled over after only an hour. _Drugged then? Not beaten that badly?_

“If you’re awake, I’m very sorry,” Sebastian said calmly. _Jim always said there was no point in being rude._

“I’m awake, Mr. Moran.” A familiar voice, softly slurred… Sebastian frowned.

“Who?”

“Sherlock Holmes,” the voice said, sounding uncharacteristically slow. “We’ve never met.”

The shock stunned him to silence for a few minutes, as his rattled brain tried to make sense of this. He finally decided to treat him like Jim and just admit to being behind.

“Ah… I recognize your voice, and we actually have crossed paths, briefly, although more often I was at the other end of a sniper scope from you.  I just have no idea what you’re doing HERE.”

“I was kidnapped.”

“Yes, well I GOT that.” He couldn’t hold back a dry chuckle. “And from the sound of it drugged.”

“Heroin.”

They were quite a ways away from anyplace Sherlock would have gone to score drugs, even if he was out of England‑ Sebastian knew that much‑ so he must have been given it by their captors…

“Controlling you through your addiction?” He had to grudgingly admire the simplicity of it. “Huh. Alright, I see that.  I don’t see why, though.”

“Apparently they want me to tell them what I know about Moriarty’s web…”

Sebastian  laughed, and then gasped as a rib shifted.

“Broken rib,” Sherlock said, without emphasis.

“At least.  I can’t walk.” He hesitated. “At least not enough to be worth the pain of trying.”

“Maybe they’ll give you heroin.” He sounded like he was thinking idly.

“They tried that. I’m allergic. They almost lost me.”

“Oh. I wondered.”

He drifted into silence, while Sebastian tried to think.

“Why’d they put you in HERE?”

“They want me to deduce you.  He said, since I knew Moriarty so well, I might be able to figure you out.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened in the dark.  _Oh shit_.  He went over everything Jim had ever told him about the man.  He couldn’t deduce things the way they probably thought, he wasn’t a mind reader… but there were some things that he might be able to, and that… that would be bad.

“How bad’s your addiction?”

“I assume you know already.”

“Humor me.”

“I’ve been here long enough for three shots.” He was pushing himself up against the wall, judging from the sound of it. “The down side is I’m likely to do just about anything for a fix before long.  I’d been clean for a while, but…” Sherlock staggered to the hole in the corner and held himself up; the sound of urine splashing got Sebastian’s attention.

“I’d rather not piss myself anymore; do you think you can help me over?” Sebastian asked.

“I’m not steady.”

Sebastian just waited. Eventually, Sherlock came over to the bed. Sebastian used him as a very wobbly crutch to go pee.  While he did, he whispered, “I’ll have to kill you, you know.”

“I rather hoped so,” Sherlock answered, barely breathing into his neck.

As Sherlock helped him back to the bed, he thought about the cold and the fact that he only knew the time of day from how cold and damp the cell got.  Sherlock was wearing far more clothes.

“The bed is far more comfortable than the floor,” Sebastian said, not trying to hide the pain in his voice.

“I rather thought you…” Sherlock sat down heavily on the edge of it. “Oh, so it is.”

“I’ve seen you sleep enough,” Sebastian said, amusement coloring his voice. “You sleep like the dead, so I know you won’t kick me.  Just lie down next to me.”

“When did you see me sleep?” Sherlock said, sounding like he was half asleep already.

Sebastian didn’t bother to answer, as the man’s deep breathing told him he was already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drug use for the next several chapters

Sebastian managed to sleep a bit; having a warm body next to him helped. He woke up because the warm body was moving jerkily.  Sherlock was sweating and tears were coming out of his eyes‑ you couldn’t really call it crying.

“He’s going into withdrawal,” Sebastian said calmly to no one in specific.

Sherlock cursed him in several languages. Sebastian tried not to smile when some of them were familiar.

The door opened, making the room uncomfortably bright again, and someone came in with works. Sherlock stared at them numbly for a moment and held out his hand.

Sebastian got to watch him as he shot up.  He was still in fairly good shape, but it wouldn’t take long for that to change.  He watched the tension run out of him as the guard took the works away and left. There was someone standing in the door watching them.

“You shouldn’t have…” Sherlock’s voice sounded heavy.

“No point in not,” Sebastian said calmly. “They would have noticed eventually‑ why make it harder on yourself?” _At least this way, you won’t feel it when I kill you._

“Why don’t you take your own advice?”  said the doorway  silhouette.  _Oh, yeah, that voice: the guy who was really pissed that I was allergic to the drugs._

Sebastian laughed slightly, being careful of his ribs. “Because there is a point.”

“And what point would that be?”

“You hurt me,” Sebastian said matter of factly. “If I can’t kill you, I can at least make you squirm.”

He strode forward and slammed Sebastian across the face. Sebastian just groaned; he didn’t even try to move his arm to block.

Sherlock tried to do something to stop him, and the man called the guards who dragged Sherlock away and threw him in the corner.

The angry man came back and hit Sebastian again.  Sebastian jerked once and lay quietly, blood dripping from the gash in his lip.

One of the other voices of people in charge snarled from the doorway, “For Christ’s sake Jerry, killing him is counterproductive.”

“When we’re done with him…” angry man‑ Jerry‑ said, as he walked out, “I want it to be slow.”

The rest was cut off as the door closed.

Sebastian lay still, feigning unconsciousness, as Sherlock crept back to the bed. “I hope,” he slurred a bit, as he breathed heavily into Sebastian’s ear, “that you are in fact able to walk?”

“Why?”

“Because I got the keys, and it’s very likely they aren’t watching now.”

Sebastian felt adrenaline lash through his system.  _My GOD! Even strung out on heroin, this man really was a genius._   He apologized in his head for everything he’d ever said to Jim about his obsession. “Come on, then.”

He moved up, both of them leaning on each other, and they were out the door in a flash.

Sebastian snapped the neck of the one guard, his arm screaming in protest. Sherlock started to move down the hall.

“Sherlock, stop,” he hissed.

“We don’t have time!”

“We do. Change clothes, I’ll find another guard.”

Sherlock looked up at him in childlike delight, eyes completely gone in drugs. “Oh,” he said, and started to strip the guard. Sebastian took his weapons and went hunting, killing three more guards and shoving two of the bodies in an empty cell. He was very glad of the weapons.

He was almost more glad of the clean uniforms.

“I only know the route between a few of the rooms,” Sherlock admitted.

“I have the map in my head.  Sometimes they tortured me in the courtyard; it was the only place with enough room for a whip. One of the guards is a show-off.” Sebastian looked at him. “Which way to where they keep the drugs?”

“That.” He jerked his head. “Why?” He was frowning as if he should know.

“You’ll need to come down slow,” Sebastian replied, turning and moving that way, trying to look upright, as though he belonged.

Sherlock knifed a guard, neatly and professionally‑ Sebastian’s estimation of the man went up again. They opened a closet to shove him into and found themselves staring at millions of dollars in heroin, ready to go, as well as a few bundles of other drugs, chemicals to cut it, test it, and  more. Sebastian grabbed one of the smaller open packages‑ still worth a fortune‑ and a bag with works in it.

Sebastian looked at Sherlock, who was standing staring vacantly at nothing. “I don’t suppose,” he said, hoping Jim’s opinion of the man was accurate, “that you could help me mix some explosives?”

Sherlock focused his attention slightly and sneered at him, “Since I was five.”

A corner of Sebastian’s mouth quirked up. “Jim was right. Alright, let’s get to work.”

It took more work than either of them wanted to admit to mix up simple explosives.  Sherlock studied Sebastian Moran as they worked.  He was certainly far from what he’d expected.  The man had let him sleep with him in the bed even after finding out who he was‑ Sherlock had to admit that he didn’t think he would have done the same. It did trouble him that the man knew how he slept, but if they were lucky they would have time to talk later.

He must be in agony, especially without being able to take strong painkillers, but he didn’t complain, and he’d never once taken it out on Sherlock.

It was when they were done and setting their makeshift fuses that he asked the simpler question.

“Why aren’t you sneering at me for the heroin? Being an addict?” he rasped out.

“You seem to be doing pretty well at it yourself‑ why duplicate the effort?” Sebastian said with a wry smile.

“Why not kill me?”

“Why not talk if we get out of here?”

They made it part way to the garage before the explosions started‑ they were shitty explosions. Sebastian groaned. “Didn’t get it mixed enough.”

“It’s still a distraction,” Sherlock wheezed.

Sebastian started a truck and crashed them through the garage doors. Sherlock exchanged gunfire‑ if you can call holding the trigger down on a machine gun and counting on the guards to duck “exchanging fire”‑ and they blew through the guard shack and onto the road.

“I trust you know they will catch us?” Sherlock said, slumping into the seat.

“Do you even know you got hit?” Sebastian  answered.

“Oh. No, I hadn’t,” he said, putting a hand to his leg and staring at the blood on his hands in fascination.  He started muttering about studying a gunshot wound up close.

“Study theirs later.  Work on making sure you can move.”

“Why?”

“Like you said, they’ll catch us, and this is a distinctive vehicle.”

“Ah, so we need to lose the truck.” Sherlock nodded. “Won’t they follow us anyway?”

“Yes, but  we can slow them down.”

“Where are we?”

“Italy.”

“Really?” Sherlock frowned.  “Odd place to kidnap me to.”

“They have more pull in the local crime syndicates than I do right now.” Sebastian nodded, “There. Train tracks. I would hear trains sometimes.”

“Truck on the tracks?”

“I swear, this is almost as good as working with Jim.” Sebastian grinned. “I adore not having to explain everything to you.”

Sherlock flushed.  He wasn’t used to having honest admiration from people, especially not field work and frontline types. “I normally get more… tolerance, and less… admiration.”

“Then you should stop hanging about with stupid people.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say, and his mind kept wandering anyway.

Sebastian had to pull him out of the car, after he left it on the tracks.  He tucked him into a corner with one of the guns. “Stay here.”

Sherlock studied the wound on his leg: it really wasn’t very bad‑ might leave an interesting scar; all-in-all, very fascinating.  He didn’t notice Sebastian coming back until he got hauled to his feet.

“Oh… sorry… It’s going to scar, won’t that be interesting?” he blinked at Sebastian.

“Fascinating Boss, move,” He said hauling him into a car, and shoving him behind the wheel.

“Boss?”

Sebastian blinked at him in shock. “Oh, damn. Sorry, you sounded like Jim there.”

“I don’t think so,” Sherlock said with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Nah, he would have sung that.”

A memory of the pool was running through both of their minds.

“You have to drive. I blanked out twice getting the car,” Sebastian said tiredly.

“I won’t stay awake…” Sherlock admitted, as he felt the pull of soft blackness overcoming the adrenaline.

“Yes, you will. I grabbed this.” He tossed a packet of cocaine at him.

“You… want me?” Sherlock stared at it. “To do drugs? Most people are trying to stop me.”

He looked over when there was no response. Sebastian was pale and lying in the back seat, not unconscious but unresponsive.  _Shock._

Sherlock snorted the cocaine, not having time for anything else.   He felt fire race through his brain, burning away the last of the uncaring cotton of heroin. 

_Damn fool, taking so long_. He pulled the car onto the road and headed for anywhere.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft got the report that his brother never got off the train at the destination, and his mouth went dry.  _Who had him? How? Why?! Was it an enemy of Sherlock’s? Mine?_

He’d sent him into lethal danger, but he would have had a chance…

Mycroft began trying to find out where his brother had gone: he didn’t even know where to start. Something not unlike the web began to search.

*

John Watson moved back into 221B, just for now. He didn’t yet know that Sherlock was missing.

*

The web felt a vibration along one of its lines‑a fellow spider trying to intrude. In another country a man who had been privy to Sebastian Moran’s kidnapping fell into the web. He was placed alone in a room with bare concrete walls, and the sound of dripping water.  His breath frosted in the air.

“Where is Sebastian Moran?” ‑a voice, nothing more.

“I’ll tell you nothing!”

The interrogator stepped into sight. “Tell me now, and you die today.”

A man who had thought he was untouchable, unbreakable, made a wise decision.

They had been five, now they were four.

*

Molly Hooper got a phone call.

“Yes, I understand,” she said, fear coiling around her heart. “A vacation in Italy sounds lovely.”

*

Sebastian came back to consciousness again and wondered what kind of crazy drugs they’d found that made him hallucinate Sherlock Holmes‑ of all people‑ and him teaming up to break out of his cell.  _Couldn’t I have at least imagined Jim?  This was just weird._

So of course he rolled over and gritted his teeth against the scream when his rib touched something.  When he opened his eyes he was face to face with a sweating and miserable Sherlock Holmes.

“You’re real?”

“Since I’m the one on heroin, shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

Sebastian blinked several times. “I get pain hallucinations sometimes.”

_Oh, yes of course._ Sherlock looked unhappy. “I need more, but I nearly overdosed last time while you were unconscious.  I’m afraid I can’t…”

“Be trusted to measure you own dose. Right,” Sebastian nodded and got up. They were in a house‑of all things‑in someone’s bedroom, although the evidence pointed to it having been unused in some time.

“You take that… very calmly,” Sherlock said

“Served in the middle of drug central.” He shrugged. “Lots of army folks try to treat their own problems. Especially if it might get them discharged if they didn’t.”

“I thought you were army,” Sherlock nodded slowly.

“Sniper. I was the one calling the shots at the pool.”

Sherlock actually managed to look intrigued past the nausea. “Oh? I’ve always had questions about that.”

“Hold on.” He finished setting up the injection. “Here,” he said, starting to hand him the needle, then he frowned. “Oh no, you need to clean your arm first.”

“What?”

“Is there water in this place?”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. “I made you drink some. “

“Then there will be a shower, or at least a sink.”

Sebastian took the needle back and had Sherlock lead him to the bathroom.  He washed his hands off and drank handfuls of water. “I need a shower so damn bad.”  He looked thoughtfully at himself, “And antibiotics.”

Sebastian let Sherlock wash his arm off, and helped him shoot up in the bathroom.  He held him until he stopped shaking. “Just so you know, we’re switching you to intramuscular after this, slower hit, and a gentler come down.”

Once Sherlock could think, and the heavy leaden feeling was hitting him, he looked up, “You… know too much.”

“I think that was the problem,” Sebastian grinned at him. “Shower?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I need one. I can’t stand by myself. You need one, but you can stand by yourself‑ sometimes. So we end up helping each other.”

Sherlock thought there must be something wrong with this idea, but frankly right now he didn’t care‑about anything.

He helped Sebastian strip off the clothes, and bandages.  Sherlock stared at him. There were very few areas of his skin that didn’t look damaged, and the tell-tales of infection were clear. “You need antibiotics,” he muttered stupidly.

“I did say that.”

“You must be in agony.”

“I said that, too.”

Sherlock helped him shower, and put him back into the bed. “My shower will have to wait.” Sebastian nodded‑ he felt feverish. “May I ask you a question?”

“Oh, now I’m in trouble,” Sebastian said drily. “You’re trying to be polite and tactful.”

“It… is not typical, no.” Sherlock couldn’t help but smile faintly.

“Go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

Sebastian sighed, “Because I was selfish enough to want one night where I wasn’t freezing?  One night with someone near me who wasn’t hurting me?”

Sherlock looked at the man shivering under the blankets, and thought about the chill of the cell. “I’ll try to make tea.”

He came back with cups of hot water and honey. “There is no tea in this house.” Sherlock sounded insulted‑ Sebastian laughed.

He took the cup. “Thank you.” He sipped slowly. “I was planning on killing you after they gave you that dose.  You wouldn’t have felt it that way.” After a pause, “And you would have put up less of a fight.”

“Oh.” Sherlock nodded. “Thank you.”

“You can call your brother and get picked up, can’t you?”

“No.”

Sebastian frowned, “I’ve been here‑there‑ several weeks; has something happened?”

“How much do you know about me, my brother?”

Sebastian snorted. “Before… Before you both died, I followed you a lot, listened in a lot. After? Well, other people did, once you turned back up.” He sighed, “So what did I miss?”

Sherlock told him about Magnussen and his exile.

“That’s pretty shitty.” Sebastian stared at him. “You don’t sound angry.”

“I was.” Sherlock couldn’t muster anger, or anything, right now.  “I assume it was the only logical choice, and my brother had no better options.  We are not known for sentiment.”

“Apparently not.” He frowned, “That makes getting help a bit more difficult.”

“Can you not call your people?” Sherlock hated how slow he felt.

“Ah, no.  There are people I could call, people I trust, but until I’m able to handle myself?  If they’re bugged, or watched, then we’d just be recaptured.” Sebastian sighed. “Our best people will have scrambled, and changed their contact information, once I was captured, anyway; it will take time.”

“And as you said, Italy is weighted in their favor.”

“Yes.” He smiled faintly. “Never thought I’d say this, but if I had to be stuck with someone, you’re not a bad choice.”

Sherlock stared at him. “Hallucinating again?”

“No. I just always had a thing for smart and competent.” His eyes closed and he mumbled softly.

Sherlock sat by the bedside staring at him for a while, before he got up and slipped away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the start of 20 questions

Sebastian woke up. _This is getting to be a bad habit._ He was so very cold.

“Can you take most antibiotics? Are you allergic to any?” Sherlock was asking him.

“My allergies are to opium derivatives, not anti‑“ He felt a needle. “What?”

He was in and out of consciousness. Sherlock made him drink soup and kept giving him shots.

He came to again with Sherlock having some kind of seizure on the bed. _God Damn it!_   He found the drugs: far too much of it was missing.

Once he could leave Sherlock long enough, he did something he’d hoped not to do: he picked up the phone, called a friend in England, and had him call a mutual friend in Italy.

Almost a day later, he and Sherlock were loaded into a car and driven away.

*

Mycroft discovered that one of their leads on the heroin trade in London had been asking about his brother.  The resources of the British Government closed in on one mid-level heroin dealer. Several hours with his personal interrogators revealed that his higher ups were asking detailed questions about Sherlock’s prior habits.

He tried everything else first, but then called in a favor for satellite imaging on suspected holdings.  He didn’t know what he expected to find, but the one in Italy had just had a suspicious fire‑he would have to start there.

*

Sherlock came to himself again.  He’d had hallucinations, and he ached, bone deep. Sebastian, looking much better than he had before, came in with a tray of food.  Sherlock felt nauseous.

“It’s soup. And you need to eat.”

“Where are we?” Sherlock felt like he’d been beaten with bats‑ a moments thought corrected that: “Thin metal rods, and rather evenly,” he finally said.

Sebastian stared at him, wide eyed, looking for the entire world like John when he made one of his observations.  Then a faint smile crossed his face and his eyes glittered with amusement. “Yes, you would feel like that’s what hit you: you managed to overdose on cocaine and heroin. You had seizures.”

Sebastian almost burst out laughing seeing the stunned look. That it was followed by Sherlock ducking his head and blushing was… _really attractive, actually._

“I’m not used to people understanding me,” Sherlock mumbled as he ate some of the soup.

“I had a lot of practice with Jim.” Sebastian sat on the bed. “Had to make him eat, too. He’d forget.”

“We’re…”

“Very much alike,” Sebastian nodded.

“I was going to say completely different,” Sherlock huffed.

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “Two geniuses: both of whom have exasperated ex-military men as their seconds; both of whom routinely get confused for being crazy, or stupid, just because they’re so far past anyone else that no one understands them?”

Sherlock stared at him. He smirked.

“He’s a criminal!”

“You told me you shot a man, and I dare say your pickpocketing skills and knife work came in handy‑ all very non-criminal things,” Sebastian said drily. “Jim uses a knife, too.”

“I prefer a gun if I have a choice,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Yes, I know: you keep shooting holes in your wall.”

“I’m not a criminal,” Sherlock muttered.

Sebastian looked at him, trying desperately to keep a straight face; he finally gave up and fell over laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms.

“You.  So tell me, are you actually expecting me to believe that you used heroin‑ among other drugs‑ without breaking any laws, or are you trying to convince yourself?”

“It’s entirely different!” Sherlock looked at him with an arrogant angry look. _Oh God, it’s Jim all over again_. Sebastian pulled him into his shoulder.

“What are you DOING?!” Sherlock said stiffly into his shoulder, but his hands came up and twisted in Sebastian’s shirt.

“Hugging you. You needed it. And before you say anything…  that ‘I don’t need anything, I hate you, and you’re stupid anyway’ trick doesn’t work on me.” Sebastian put his head down into Sherlock’s hair. “When Jim pulls it, he’s a lot more convincing.”

“I hate me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Everyone hates me.”

“No, they don’t. Just stupid people. John’s crazy over you, even if you drive him up the wall, and I’ve gotten pretty fond of you.”

Sherlock pulled his head back to stare at him. “Why?”

Sebastian grinned faintly, “Like I said, I have a thing for smart, competent people.  I may also have a bit of a caretaker kink. It’s hard to find smart, competent people who need someone to take care of them.”

Sherlock had feelings about that, and he hated having feelings about that, so he shoved them resolutely off in a box and asked the original question: “Where are we?”

Sebastian looked down at him very seriously. “I had to pull in a personal favor. We’re staying with a friend from the military. He doesn’t have any involvement with my life after, and I really didn’t want him involved, but he was the only person I could trust in Italy.” He worried at his lip. “He thinks you’re my boyfriend, and that we ran into trouble with a drug gang.”

“True, except for the boyfriend part.”

“It explained us sharing a bed.” Sebastian shrugged.

The mention of beds brought up a memory. Sherlock frowned. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Tit for Tat, then: I have some for you.”

“You watched me sleep? When?”

“Most nights‑ before. Your window has a great line of sight to your bed, and when you fell asleep on the sofa, I had line of sight from the roof across the way.”

“Why?!”

“Jim wanted to know what you were doing.” He shrugged. “My turn.”

Sherlock grumbled but nodded.

“Why didn’t you ever shag John?”

Sherlock froze, staring at him with wide eyes. “He’s not gay!”

Sebastian looked dubious, “Well, you sure had a lot of chemistry, back when I was watching you.  I just wondered why you never tried it.”

Sherlock couldn’t keep looking at him and ducked his head, “Because every time I got up the nerve to think about it, he was getting upset about people thinking we were.” He looked back up, “And then he got married‑to a girl, yes.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock turned on him with his question, “So why don’t YOU sleep with Moriarty?” ‑expecting him to flinch, to be offended‑ and then his eyes widened as he saw the answer before Sebastian could speak.

“I do, why?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i skipped lightly over several days of misery. detailing infection and fevers, and drug over doses, is ugly


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> questions and answers

“You…” Sherlock’s head was spinning. He lay back in the bed.

Sebastian moved the tray aside and curled into bed next to him.  Sherlock supposed it should feel wrong, but he was used to having him there by now.

“I suppose that’s why I just assumed you and John would, eventually,” Sebastian admitted.

“You never tried to… do anything with me.” Sherlock managed to make his tone very dry.  He wasn’t at all sure whether he should be relieved, or insulted.

“Well, first of all, I wasn’t well enough.”

“Oh.” He blinked, remembering the wounds, and the infection. “Yes, of course.”  He somehow thought he should be worried about it now, but… no. Sebastian would never force him.

“And then you were out of it,” Sebastian continued.

“I thought I could… keep an eye on you better if I could just focus, and…”

“And you justified using the cocaine, and then you just needed a bit more heroin to take the edge off, and that’s how you end up ODing.”

“You know far too much about addicts.”

“I got my dishonorable discharge‑officially‑ for dealing drugs.  They couldn’t get me on the other charges.”

“Were you? It seems… unlikely.”

“Technically? Yes.” Sebastian was speaking into the back of Sherlock’s head, with his arms wrapped around him. “In fact, I was helping some of my men, and a few others, deal with their habits.”

“Which is how you knew.  I see,” Sherlock nodded. “But they would have found drugs in your possession.”

Sebastian nodded.

“What was it they couldn’t get you on?”

“Shooting some terrorists.”

“Why would they be upset about that?”

“Because officially they were on our side‑ except they weren’t.”

“Oh,” Sherlock sighed.

“My turn again,” Sebastian smiled into the back of his head.

Sherlock nodded, comfortable in the warmth of Sebastian’s arms. “Yes?”

“Where did you get the antibiotics? You probably saved my life.”

“Errr…” Sherlock gulped and muttered an answer very quietly.

“What?”

“I stole them, from a pharmacy.”

Sebastian snickered into Sherlock’s hair, his breath warm on Sherlock’s ear. “Certainly no criminal expertise at all.”

“We are not at all alike,” Sherlock tried to insist. “If nothing else, John is my flatmate and my assistant, but not my sniper‑he doesn’t kill people for me!” Sherlock’s voice gained confidence.

“Cab driver,” Sebastian murmured into Sherlock’s ear. “He killed a man for you after he’d known you for a few hours.  I didn’t shoot anyone for Jim until after he saved my life, and even then I’d known him for a bit before I shot anyone for him.”

Sherlock didn’t want to see it, but the facts were inescapable.

“My turn.” And he hurried on, “How… how did Moriarty manage to… attract your interest? I certainly never managed with John.”

“Hmm… that would involve giving you information that isn’t mine to give, really, but he’s not quite as shy as you are.”

“I’m not shy.”

“Pull the other one, it has bells.”

Sherlock just sank further into Sebastian’s comforting strength.

“I’m not usually interested,” Sherlock  whispered. “Not like other people talk about it.”

Sebastian thought about it for a few minutes. “So by the time you notice someone, and decide you might be interested, it’s usually too late?”

“Yes. And all the ones that seem interested in me‑ and say so clearly enough to notice‑ are… well… boring.”

“Jim’s least favorite word,” Sebastian chuckled. “Right up there with ‘ordinary’.”

“Ugh.” Sherlock groaned, “Alright, I agree with him on that: ordinary people are so TEDIOUS.”

Sebastian snickered.

“You didn’t answer my question: I get another turn,” Sherlock said firmly.

“Go ahead.”

“At the pool: you were the sniper?”

“I was the senior sniper; we had several.  Mine would be the dot you saw.”

“I think I should be upset at you for that.”

“Are you?”

“I should be.”

Sebastian chuckled. “I don’t think Jim wanted either of you shot, just then; he had plans.”

“Yes,” grumbled Sherlock darkly, “he mentioned them.”

“Far be it from me to interfere with anything that keeps him from being bored. You are far too much alike.” Sebastian sighed, “In any event, I’ve been busy running things, and you were taking things down, and I could have had you killed at any time after you came back, but I didn’t.  Can we just call that one even?”

Sherlock finally sighed, “Even.”

“My turn,” Sebastian said, and Sherlock thought he even sounded like he was smiling, in addition to feeling it against his ear. “You said you aren’t normally interested. Would you be interested with me?”

Sebastian’s body hadn’t  shifted in the slightest‑his arms hadn’t moved‑ but Sherlock was suddenly very aware of his body, and the heat of him, and how capable he was even half dead from torture.

“Yes.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seriously Sherlock? no wonder...

Sherlock braced for derision, but Sebastian just said, “Good. I’m glad to hear my instincts are still working.  I’m not sure how long it would be until we’re in shape to do much, though.”

Sherlock let out a long breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “I’m in good enough shape, compared to you, right now.”

“Probably,” he admitted. “Still, no rush.  My buddy is out posting a message to an internet drop; once that gets picked up I’ll get a phone call, and then hopefully a doctor.”

At the word “doctor” Sherlock looked over at Sebastian. “I should call John.”

“Uh-uh, he’s unquestionably bugged,” Sebastian said firmly. “You would just endanger him.”

Sherlock winced. “Yes, I’m sure.” He sighed, “That’s why I didn’t contact him after I died.”

“Wait…” Sebastian frowned. “You DIDN’T?”

“No, it wouldn’t have been safe.”

“Well, not at first, but you didn’t even try to get word to him?”

“No,” Sherlock admitted. “Not until I could come back.”

Sebastian moved away and sat up. “Once we get this mess resolved, if you can go home, I’m going to deliver you to him gift wrapped with a flog! That’s cruel!”

“Yes, he said so after he hit me.” Sherlock winced, then sat up and jerked around. “You’ll what?!”

Sebastian firmly walked over and got a sandwich. “Eat that, drink more water, and count yourself lucky that you’re still in recovery or I’d flog you myself, on behalf of my poor opposite number,” Sebastian huffed.

Sherlock sat with a sandwich and a bottle of water in hand, looking at the door as Sebastian left. The last thing he heard was, “Bloody hell, they must be related.”

*

Mycroft received word from the Italian officials that the building had been secured, and that indeed they had found the remains of a very notable drug operation.  Discrete inquiries indicated that there had been prisoners, and that they had escaped, either causing the fires, or because of them.

No, none of the dead bodies matched the description sent.

Mycroft allowed himself one minute of silent tears, relief making him weak where grief did not, and went back to hunting down the blackmail information before it was too late.

*

The web flexed, and strengthened its position in Italy.  The police had already descended on the building that Sebastian Moran, heir to the web, had been held in.  Money changed hands, attractive people asked innocent questions, and news soon enough traveled across the web that Sebastian Moran had not been found there, but there had been prisoners, and they were being hunted.

A very large price was put on the head of the man that had been in charge of the drug operation there–doubled, if he was still breathing. 

And then a message appeared in the internet, just a quote and a series of numbers.

The interrogator from the cold, damp room smiled, and made a phone call.

*

After a while Sherlock heard voices, and slipped silently down the hallway of this new house.

“No, Sean. You’re already at enough risk just doing what you have.  I’ll be contacted soon enough and as soon as I can I’ll be out of here.” _Sebastian, speaking in Italian._

“Moran you idiot–“ _Sean’s voice was English, speaking Italian._

“If you’re going to be official about it, that’s Colonel Idiot.”

Sean snorted, “And how many more addicts are you going to pick up out of the gutter?”

“This one’s special.” _They were moving away._

“I hope he’s worth it, Colonel.”

They moved out of earshot.  Sherlock slipped back into the room and finished eating.  After a while, Sebastian came back in.

“Eavesdropping?” he asked, although he didn’t sound offended.

“What makes you say that?”

“Breadcrumbs in the hallway.”

Sherlock grumbled, but Sebastian just grinned.

“Once it’s dark we’re going to be heading out. The– My agents have arranged to get a doctor to meet me at a vacation villa, along with some back up and so on.”

Sherlock nodded.  Things were starting to fall into place as his mind cleared from the drugs more.

“I was unconscious for a while, wasn’t I?” Sherlock asked. “I don’t feel any withdrawal symptoms.”

Sebastian nodded. “Between the medications and your body just shutting down, yes–or at least you weren’t VERY conscious.”

“You looked too much better for it to be just hours,” Sherlock nodded.

Sebastian looked at him thoughtfully. “You look edgy, but you just said it’s not the drugs–and you should be past that, physically–so what’s wrong?”

“You said, ‘IF I can go home’,” Sherlock said thoughtfully, “and that’s in addition to the flogging part.”

“You deserve a sound hiding for putting the man through that much grief,” he said firmly. He sat down and put an arm around Sherlock, pulling him in carefully against his good ribs. “As to the ‘IF’ part: you said yourself, your brother sent you off to a pretty high risk situation, and you don’t have the ability to go back, do you?”

“No,” Sherlock admitted.

“I might be able to use some of my resources to see about untangling that mess you were going to be sent into, but I don’t know, and right now the people who had us both are still after us, AND your brother  wouldn’t be happy with you turning up anywhere else.  I’m afraid that you’re stuck with me.”

Sherlock sighed and his hands twitched up and down–a gesture that might have seemed like it was drug related if Sebastian hadn’t seen it through the scope so many times.  He finally stilled and sighed, “Well, as you said, Sebastian: if I have to be stuck with someone, you’re not bad.”

“There we go, declarations of undying tolerance,” Sebastian grinned.

“Errr… I suppose that’s not really…”

Sebastian just waved him off. “So I have to ask, given what you’ve said… How much experience do you have? With sex, I mean.”

Sherlock made a face. “Far more than I like.”

In response to Sebastian’s raised eyebrow, he explained, “Not all drug dealers want money.”

“Ah, of course, and you are very good looking.”  He frowned, “I assume you’ve been tested?”

“Yes, and treated for what I did pick up,” he winced. “My family was less than understanding.”

“How the hell did you get started on drugs anyway?”

“BORED!” Sherlock shouted suddenly, as anger completely transformed the man. “I was so bloody BORED. Day in, day out, nothing I couldn’t solve in a few minutes, nothing worth paying attention to…” he trailed off and sagged. “I don’t know how Mycroft stands it.”

“Same way Jim coped, I suppose: they both run big networks–always SOME problem to solve, some mess to clean up.”

“I can’t stand people that much,” Sherlock admitted. “That, and they all dislike me.”

“Nope, not all,” Sebastian grinned. “So, did anyone ever go down on YOU?”

Sherlock crunched his face up thinking. “If they did, I deleted it.”

“You what?”

“Deleted it. Erased It.” He waved in an annoyed fashion.  “If it ever happened, it wasn’t important enough to clutter up my mind with.”

“Well then, you never had anyone go down on you that knew how, or trust me you’d have remembered.” Sebastian went over to a dresser drawer and started getting out some things.

“Well…” Sherlock brightened slightly. “It’s an experiment, then!”

Sebastian almost dropped the condom. “I can see why you don’t get much practice at this, if that’s how you talk to most folks.”

Sherlock was concerned, but Sebastian was grinning.

“Right then,” Sebastian said, holding up a condom. “For Science!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's lucky Sebastian is that easy going and hard to rattle, really it is. No wonder Sherlock doesn't normally get very far.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delete THAT.

 Unfortunately, Sebastian and Sherlock rapidly discovered that finding a position that put minimal strain on Sebastian’s wounds, ribs, etc.  was not easy.

_I suppose it’s lucky he IS looking at this as an experiment,_ Sebastian realized. _Most blokes would have been discouraged by now._

Eventually they found that having Sherlock backed up against a wall, with sufficient pillows under Sebastian’s knees, and some minor adjustments to allow for height–since Sebastian couldn’t flex his ribs without pain–seemed likely to work.

“Not the most surreal thing I’ve done, but it’s right up there,” Sebastian muttered.

“The real problem,” Sherlock said earnestly, “is the leg height.  If we could just put a three inch platform under you, it would be ideal.”

“No, if I didn’t have so many injuries, it would be ideal,” Sebastian stated. “So, what do you normally think about to get your interest up?”

“Murder, I suppose.”

“Right, so tell me again how you aren’t just like Jim?”

“I’m thinking about solving them.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. He let Sherlock get himself started– _at least he seemed to have no modesty about jerking off practically into my nose_ –and put the condom on him.

Sebastian found it slightly unnerving to get started with his partner staring down at him intently as if he was watching surgery. Still, if there was one thing a sniper could do, and do well, it was focus on a job despite distractions.

He experimentally tried a few different levels of pressure and got no response.

He pulled back. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?” He sounded politely attentive.

Sebastian groaned slightly, “Right.  You’re a robot.”

“I... what?”

“Since I am not familiar with your responses, I need you to TELL me when something feels good, better, or worse.”

“Oh. Feedback?” he questioned.

Sebastian felt the beginnings of a migraine. “Well, usually it feels good enough that people make noise, or try to direct you with their hands, or  say things like, ‘Oh God, more…’ or ‘Harder’ or something.” He finally muttered, “This is officially weirder than anything I ever did with Jim, and that’s saying something.”

“What’s the weirdest thing you did with Jim?”

“Either having him go down on me while I tried to do a sniping job, or having sex in the morgue.”

“I wouldn’t think the morgue would be that odd?”

Sebastian just groaned again. _It was a good thing it wasn’t me having to get it up right now, because I couldn’t POSSIBLY._

“So, you think I should sound like some of the people I’ve done this to?” Sherlock sounded dubious.

“No, I just need to know whether you like it harder, softer, faster, slower… that sort of thing.  Just little Mmm-hmmm noises?” he asked hopefully.

“Right.” Sherlock nodded solemnly at him. “Try again. It did feel good, by the way.”

“Bloody…” Sebastian went back to experimenting with pressure.  _Bloody well starting to feel like a science experiment._

He sucked a bit harder than he’d intended out of aggravation and got a startled baritone hum out of him.  Sebastian thought quickly, and tried being a bit rougher and faster.  He got rewarded with a very faint gasping noise.

_Heh.  So that’s how you like it?_ Sebastian smiled to himself and pushed Sherlock into the wall and started going down on him like he was going to eat him alive.

The startled breathy noises might have been happy, or unhappy, but the increasing firmness of Sherlock under his tongue was unmistakable. He slicked some lube on his finger and started working it in.  Sherlock whimpered and tried to move away from his finger; Sebastian growled around his cock and stopped just short of biting down.

Sherlock moaned.

That sound got Sebastian’s interest.  _Oh, I am looking forward to seeing you in leather._

He sucked harder, and took Sherlock down his throat.  Sherlock’s hands grabbed desperately for purchase on his hair and tried to pull him in.

Sebastian set up a punishing pace, with his free hand unquestionably leaving bruises on Sherlock’s ass.  _Skin like that? I bet he bruises like a dream._

Sebastian found just the right spot with his finger, and Sherlock made a noise halfway between moaning and singing as he came.  Sebastian made sure to keep working until he was shuddering limply and the only thing keeping him standing was being pressed into the wall.

He gentled his pace and pulled away slowly.

When he looked up he was rewarded with a sight that he would file away forever: Sherlock–gasping–with his blue eyes swallowed up with black, lips parted, flushed, looking down at him in awe.

Sebastian pulled himself up Sherlock’s body, realizing that he had probably overdone it, but the look of stunned, shocked awe on Sherlock’s face was worth every bit of it.

He leaned in, putting his forehead to Sherlock’s, pressing him back into the wall. “So…” He kept his voice quiet, making Sherlock almost hold his breath to hear him. “I don’t think you’re going to delete that.”

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

For the next few minutes after that Sherlock had been quietly fascinated by him in a way that Sebastian couldn’t decide was “serial killer obsessive” or “stunned virgin”– he finally decided it might be both.

He went downstairs to get more food, and got cornered by Sean.

“What was that noise about?”

“Guess, Sean.”

“Redecorating the room and then a quick fuck?”

“Yeah, basically,” Sebastian nodded, and then took pity on him. “I HURT, Sean, and you know I can’t take most stuff.  We had a tough time finding a position.”

He got ice out of the freezer and started making up ice packs. Sean handed him some gel packs already frozen.

“Bless you.”

“So why did you? You look better than when you got here, but that’s not saying much.”

“It was worth it,” he grinned. “Look, I’ll fill you in when we aren’t running away from a drug gang.”

“So… never?”

Sebastian grinned and went back upstairs. Sherlock had gotten over the silent worship and launched into questions.

“Is that just YOU? Or is it supposed to feel like that? I don’t think anyone ever felt like that when I did it, is it a technique? I thought you weren’t supposed to touch with your teeth? The books were rather clear on that. Also, how did you manage to suppress the gag reflex? I don’t–“

Sebastian semi-panicked at the rapid fire questions, and shut him up the only way he could think of: he tried to kiss him.

This… worked about as well as the blow job.  Sherlock just stood there looking confused with his mouth open and sort of tentatively kissed back.

Sebastian groaned, “Right. No one ever kissed you properly, either?”

“It’s rather unsanitary…”

Sebastian slapped his forehead and meant it. “SEX is filthy dirty when it’s done right.” Sebastian said firmly, “and a really good kiss is a great way to start, AND to start giving your partner feedback about how you like it.”

“Oh? Errr… then I don’t have any idea how…”

“No wonder Jim called you the Virgin,” Sebastian groaned.

“I’m not that,” Sherlock said grumpily. “Not for a long time.”

“You might as well be, for all the good you’ve gotten out of it! No wonder you have no idea what to do when people flirt.”

“I’m usually–”

“Not interested. I remember.” Sebastian scrubbed his hand back through his hair. “Sherlock, we’re going to work on getting some of the basics through to you, because by God when I have the capability I’m going to tie you down to the bed and turn your brain into jelly.”

“I’ve read about–“

“No,” Sebastian shook his head. “There are so many bad references out there it’s ridiculous, and since you obviously never had good sex, you have no way to judge it.  Once we get to safety we can go over references and I’ll tell you what’s at least reasonable.”  Sebastian shook his head again. “Well, I can assure you in this regard you are nothing like Jim.”

Sherlock looked annoyed.

“Variety’s the spice of life, right?” Sebastian moved him up against the wall, and reached his good hand up into Sherlock’s hair, twisting it slightly and pulling his hair back.  He kissed him again, slowly telegraphing every move, but not at all gently.

Sherlock started moaning, his hands twisting violently by his side. Sebastian pulled back, and Sherlock made a small needy noise.

“Yeah, feedback,” Sebastian smirked down at him. “You are going to look incredible in a collar.” He started kissing down his neck. When he found a spot that seemed sensitive he sucked and bit a bruise into it. Sherlock stayed flat against the wall, with his hands fluttering at his sides, hardly making a noise, but when Sebastian looked up his eyes were closed and he was making tiny panting whimpers.

“There. That’ll do until I can get something better.” Sebastian let go of his hair and pulled him over to the mirror.

Sherlock stared at the mark on his neck. “Wait…” He snapped his eyes to Sebastian. “Everyone will see that!  You don’t need–“

“Yes, everyone knows what a hickey is,” Sebastian smirked. “Anyone who sees that knows you had someone getting their germ laden slobber all over you. That’s the point.”

“People will stare!”

“Let ‘em,” he shrugged. “Or don’t. I kept it low enough to hide if you want to.”

Sherlock didn’t seem inclined to help clean up the room, being mostly busy trying to conceal the mark and only succeeding in drawing more attention to it.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Sherlock frowned.

“Yeah? Well, let me put it this way: my friend hid us here at fairly significant risk‑common courtesy says we help clean up” He looked at Sherlock thoughtfully and tried to  figure out how to reach him, then nodded, “Besides, we have to remove the evidence that we were here.”

Sherlock blinked a few times and agreed. Turned out he could clean up if you just put it the right way. Sebastian  resolved to take John out to dinner the next time he saw him–the man put up with this and didn’t even get sex out of it? He was a saint.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> new friends and old...

They drove to a spot on the road and pulled over. They were both dressed similarly, in dark clothes and knit caps–and guns.

“You didn’t tell me how we were meeting this doctor, and this doesn’t appear to be a vacation villa,” Sherlock said, sounding calm and put together–which was spoiled somewhat by his insistence on having his scarf pulled up over the mark on his neck.

“We get out, you hide with one of the guns, and one of my people should pull up. If you see this,” he gestured, “shoot him if you can, or run at least.”

Sebastian looked firmly at him, “Sherlock, like it or not, right now, I’m all you’ve got.”

“I know.” He glared at Sebastian. “That doesn’t mean I like it.”

He nodded, “Alright, I’m going to lay this out for you.  There are things you probably could deduce, especially if they had you watch as they tortured me. I would rather be dead than let them win.  Are we clear so far?”

“I believe we are in agreement,” Sherlock nodded. “I don’t think being recaptured by them would…” He took a deep breath, and suddenly Sebastian realized that he was terrified.

Sebastian gave him one last hug. “That’s why I want you to hide with a gun, Sherlock. If nothing else, you have the means to make sure they don’t take either of us alive.”

“Thank you for that.”

A memory of a young Lieutenant, dead of an overdose–all that potential gone forever–flashed through his mind. “Go on, Lieutenant.”

He blinked at him, “I’m not–“

“You act like a Lieutenant I knew.  You’re much smarter, but you remind me of him.  I couldn’t save him–I’m going to do better with you.”

Sherlock nodded and slid into the brush near the road.  Sebastian waited.

Eventually a car pulled up. Sebastian held his breath, and then one of his snipers got out.

“Boss?”

“Oh, thank God.  Here, Laz,” he said getting out from behind cover. “Who’s with you?”

“Thank God, yeah,” Laz breathed. “I came by myself, just in case.  We’ve been mole hunting.”

“Shit.”

“How bad are you? I was told you need major medical? You look ok?”

“Better than I could be, but don’t hug me–ribs.”  Laz nodded. “I have back up, let me get him.”

“Sh–Lieutenant?” He gave the all clear.

“Get in the car, Laz. I’ll explain on the way,” he said as the dark figure of Sherlock–just a man with a gun–slid into the back of the car with him.

“Hold on, we’re going to make sure we aren’t followed,” Laz said, keeping his attention on the road.

“You alright?” Sebastian asked.

“Fine!” Sherlock said brightly. “This is much more fun.”

Sebastian stared at him– _he was serious._ “How the hell did you not end up working on our side years ago?”

“I’m not–“

“–a criminal. Yes, you said.” Sebastian  sighed. “Give it up already.”

Sherlock sat back in the seat grumbling.

Eventually Laz glanced back in the rear view. “We don’t have anyone following. I’ll head to the villa; the doctor’s been arranged.”

“Right.” Sebastian sighed, “So, Laz? Are we on a stretch of road you can drive on while I give you some peculiar news? And still not drive us over a cliff? Or should we pull over?”

A very cautious, “How peculiar? What’s the M scale?”

“Hmm… I haven’t had to rate it.  It’s weird, but not bad or anything.  Just weird?”

“The what scale?” Sherlock asked.

“We had an informal scale for ‘shit Moriarty dropped on us that complicated or weirded out our jobs.’ And I’m trying to figure out where you fit.” Sebastian reached over and took Sherlock’s obvious gun–he had more. “And don’t shoot Laz: he’s one of my team, and a good friend.”

Sherlock nodded.

“Laz? Meet Sherlock Holmes.”

“What?!” The car swerved slightly as Laz’s eyes snapped to the rear view mirror.  He recovered and then, “Pull off all that, I don’t believe you.”

Sherlock pulled off his hat. He couldn’t help but smirk.  The man’s eyes widened in the rear view and the car drifted slightly.

“Careful, Laz,” Sebastian said.

“Fucking, shitting, hell boss!  Are you trying to one up Moriarty? I think you topped the M scale on ‘never saw that one coming’ in any case!”

Sebastian grinned, and pulled Sherlock into his side. Sherlock stiffened uncomfortably. _Right, public displays probably bug him_.  Sebastian let him go. “The men that had me? Grabbed him too.  We worked together to escape.”

“I don’t think they expected that,” Sherlock said drily.

“Sherlock Holmes…” Laz shook his head slowly. “Damn.”

Sherlock sighed, “Which sniper was he?”

Sebastian shrugged, “Which time?”

“Roof.”

“Lestrade.”

Sherlock frowned at the  eyes in the rearview.

“How’d you know I was…?”

Sherlock snorted, “It was obvious.”

Sebastian shook his head, “Oh, no you don’t–you two are not going to start snarking at each other about it. I’m tired and I hurt. Speaking of which: Sherlock? Ice pack?”

Sherlock glanced at him and got out three, and helped him put one across his ribs.

“How bad, Boss?”

“I’d be dead if Sherlock here hadn’t stolen antibiotics for me. As to the rest? Pretty bad. I can hit what I aim at, but don’t ask me to snipe right now.”

Laz was quiet for a while. “Never thought I’d say this, but thank you, Mr. Holmes.  He’s good people.”

Sherlock blinked at him a lot, and then quietly replied, “You’re welcome, and yes he is.”

The two of them dozed off and on for the rest of the trip. Laz kept worrying about that: it wasn’t like the Boss to fall asleep in an insecure location.  He hoped the doctor was good.  He didn’t know which one had been sent.

They arrived at the villa, and Laz woke them up.

“Boss? I didn’t pick the doctor, or the team here.”

Both Sherlock and Sebastian didn’t need to be told twice: they got ready for anything. Sherlock put his knit cap back on and pulled his scarf up. E _ven if they were on Sebastian’s side they might not be friendly to me at first glance._

Laz went in first. “You, weapon down,” they heard him say.

“Like I’m going to hurt the Colonel?” came a voice Sebastian knew well.

“How the fuck did you get here?” Sebastian pushed ahead. “Wounded,” he warned the man who showed every sign of slamming him into a bear hug.

“I assume you feel safe with him?” Sherlock’s voice drily from the door.  He sized up the man. _British, probably of Jamaican ancestry, his dark skin marred by old needle tracks on both arms._

The man looked at him and the two heroin addicts met eyes and looked away.

“Rescuing junkies still?” he asked, his voice a lot gentler.

“He’d been clean; our captors shot him up to get him to cooperate.” The dark man winced. “You’ve heard of him, I think.” _For some reason Sebastian sounded really amused._

Sherlock looked narrowly at Sebastian. _Yes, he thought this was VERY funny_. “What’s so funny?”

“James? Meet Sherlock Holmes,” he said as they went into the villa. “Captain Watson’s flatmate.”

“What?!”  James–the other addict–spun and nearly tripped over a piece of furniture in the entry way. “No way! How?!”

Sherlock took off his knit cap, only noticing movement out of the corner of his eye, but it didn’t seem threatening.  _James was uneasy and… stressed? But not frightened?_

Sebastian was looking at him oddly, “What’s wrong, James?”

“Sebastian? How badly hurt are you–Sherlock?!”

Sherlock spun, staring at Molly Hooper standing in the doorway with a medical bag.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> molly and tea

Sebastian Moran and Sherlock Holmes stared at the unexpected image of Molly Hooper standing in the doorway.

“Oh, Christ!  Of course you’d be the one…” Sebastian sagged slightly.

“Molly?” Sherlock whispered.  _She couldn’t be working with them, not Molly, it wasn’t possible… No, it was possible._ He looked at her: _Stress, Fear, Secrets, threat, longing–she was mildly afraid of Sebastian, she was horrified that I’d seen her here…_ “You’re being blackmailed?” he asked gently.

“Oh, God… Sherlock…” Molly rocked from foot to foot. “What are you DOING here?”

Sebastian pulled himself up and held up a hand. “NOT one more word.”  He glared at Sherlock, and shot a lesser glare at Molly. “I do NOT want to have to shoot anyone, and if anyone says the wrong thing right now, I might have to.  So we’re all just going to shut up until I can talk to people in private.”

Molly nodded so hard Sherlock was afraid her neck would strain.

“Yes, I see.” He nodded gently at Molly and tried to look reassuring. “It’s a difficult situation.”

“How…” She shook her head. “Sebastian?  I was… I was told you were hurt.”

Sherlock  matter of factly said, “He was tortured, he had infections, at least  a broken rib, I think a hairline fracture of one arm, and  assorted soft tissue trauma.”

“Don’t forget the knee and shin injury.” Sebastian rolled his eyes.  Laz and James looked alarmed at him.

“Colonel?” James frowned, “How bad?”

“Well, they wanted me alive and in enough of one piece that they could make me sit in front of a video camera… it could have been worse.”

“I… I have your medication,” Molly whispered.

“Oh, Thank…” Sebastian  winced. “I can’t take any, not until I get this straight with you two.”

“What?”

“Sherlock? Molly? Listen to me very carefully: your life, and a lot of other lives, depends right now on everyone doing EXACTLY what I say.”

“Threatening me again?” Sherlock asked. _He called her Molly, not Doctor Hooper, and she called him Sebastian…  This had been going on for a while._

“No. Warning you.” Sebastian sat down on one of the chairs, wincing. “Who all is here?” he asked James.

“Two of the other fellows, Mark and Charles–little Charles.  I picked them.”

Sebastian nodded. “Alright, leave them on guard, you four listen carefully.  Right now, we have a potential leak in our ranks, right Laz?”

Laz nodded.

“We are in ITALY, and the people who tortured me,” he looked pointedly at Molly, “and tortured Sherlock by shooting him up full of heroin,”–she gasped and tried to look at Sherlock; Sherlock wouldn’t meet her eyes–“are shot through the country.  Right now, they are looking for us, and I expect would do almost anything to get me at least back.”

He looked at Molly, “Sherlock got sent on a suicide mission by his brother.”

“I know, I heard…”

“So he can’t go back to England and his brother can’t help him right now.  EVEN if I wanted to turn him loose, it would be a death sentence.”

Molly made a strangled noise and looked at Sherlock, who nodded, “It’s unfortunately true.” Sherlock sat down in a chair. “I am in fact somewhat stuck.”

Sebastian nodded, “At least until we can get out of Italy, and that will be tough.  The longer we stay out of sight, though, the more my network can make things difficult for them. We should be able to get out of Italy once we’ve both recovered a bit.

“Molly, under NO circumstances do you discuss anyone else you have met, or treated. I don’t want you hurt.” He looked at Sherlock. “Yes, she’s working for me under duress.  I don’t want to have to hurt her; please don’t force the issue?”

Sherlock looked pained, “Why?”

“She knows too much.” Sebastian shrugged. “Instead of killing her, I decided to trust her. Don’t make me regret it.”

Sherlock could tell there was a lot these two weren’t telling him, but the idea of Molly getting hurt… “I don’t want Molly getting hurt.”

“Then don’t ask her anything and don’t let her tell you.”

Sherlock nodded.

“James? Molly?” They both looked at him. “No matter what happens, I want you to get word to Captain Watson.”

“What? But you just threatened–”

Sebastian cut her off. “You knew Sherlock was alive and you didn’t tell him.”

“Sherlock made me promise…” she whispered.

“Well, whether I live or die, you are going to TELL him that Sherlock is alive.”

“What?” Sherlock stared at him. “Why would you die now?”

“I developed my allergy to opiates rather suddenly. There is no way to predict my reaction to drugs, even drugs I’ve taken before. It’s always a risk.” He said grimly, “And infection can look like it’s going fine and then kill you.  That’s all in addition to the fact that right now we have those bastards after me, AND a traitor in the ranks–probably several.”

“Yes, you’re right. It has to be prepared for,” Sherlock nodded. “Why the instructions to tell John? Wouldn’t I be shot if anything happened to you?”

“No.” He looked at his men. “IF anything happens to me, your priority is to get Molly Hooper back to England in one piece.” Molly looked surprised, as did Sherlock. “Your next priority is getting Sherlock Holmes into one of our safehouses and SITTING on him until my heir gets to him.”  He looked at Sherlock, “I can’t guarantee what he’ll do, but you saved my life, and that counts with him.  I think he’ll keep you safe.” He sighed, “Try not to aggravate him.”

“I aggravate everyone,” Sherlock said slowly. He didn’t like thinking about Sebastian being dead.

“Try not to.” He looked back at Molly. “I need to talk to you in private, and you need to examine me. Let’s go.”  He looked at James. “John would be pissed if you let Sherlock get killed because he eavesdropped. Keep him away.”

“Right, Colonel,” James nodded.

Molly and Sebastian walked out.  Sherlock sat there trying to make sense of it all.  Eventually James asked him if he wanted tea.

“Oh, oh GOD, yes.”

“It’s all coffee in this bloody country,” James said, heading into the kitchen. Laz glanced at Sherlock and indicated they should follow.

There was a small sitting area just off the kitchen.

“You… know John?” Sherlock asked James. It was obvious he did, but he couldn’t quite figure out all the connections.

“Yeah, Doc’s a good man. He helped a lot of us after the Colonel got discharged.”

Sherlock got a look of dawning comprehension. “That’s why he looked like that.”

“What?”

“He realized I was an addict,” Sherlock said quietly.  “It’s why he looked like that when I relapsed.  He tried to pretend he was shocked and didn’t know, but…”

Laz looked at Sherlock and James. “So you two both got picked up by the Boss and his rescue kick, huh?”

“I served under him,” James said, putting down tea. “He helped get me off the drugs, and he tried to cover up for me.  I got discharged anyway, and he found me in a smack house back in England. Got me cleaned up again and got me a job.”

Laz nodded, “Well, I work on his sniper team, did back before Mr. Moriarty died.”

“Shit, you must be good. Colonel had high standards.”

Laz nodded.

Sherlock was sipping the first tea he’d had since he was kidnapped. He wanted to marry this tea.  “So, you were in touch with John for Moriarty? That… that sounds wrong.”

James snorted. “No. I was in touch with the Doc like MOST of our unit back in England.  Because he was the doctor, and from our unit, and a damn fine soldier, and you could bitch at him about how awful civilian life was, and he’d make you tea and stitch you up and not ask.” He shook his head, “It about killed us seeing him as depressed as he was, but he started perking up after he moved in with you. Danger junkie–worse than smack. Then when you died…” James winced.

Laz stared in the direction the doctor and Moran had gone. “THAT’s why he wouldn’t let anyone else take Watson?”

Sherlock stared at him. “What?”

Laz grinned suddenly. “I wondered what was up back then–why Moriarty made it clear none of us were to so much as put a targeting spot on him.”

James stared at him. “What? Wait, since when was Doc Watson ever targeted?”

Laz grinned even more. “I don’t think he WAS.  It was only ever Sebastian. From what you’re saying, do you think Sebastian would shoot him? He’s always been a protective asshole.  Saved my hide more than once.”

James just stared at him. “The COLONEL?  Targeting DOC? No way in hell, they’re friends!  One of my jobs was to check in on him.”

Sherlock stared off in the direction Sebastian had gone. “John? John was safe?  But the bomb vest?”

“The what?” James looked puzzled.

Laz shrugged, “So ask him when he gets back.”  He frowned, “Alright, Holmes, for some reason he’s picked you up, and he says you saved his life–“

“What?” James interrupted.

Laz continued, “How badly hurt IS he?”

Sherlock looked at the two men–both of whom were apparently frighteningly loyal to Sebastian; one of whom was a friend of John’s–and shook his head to try to clear it.

“He was extensively tortured.  Apparently they tried using drugs and almost killed him, but I saw a lot of knife and burn wounds–mostly under areas covered by clothes. He was whipped at least once that he mentioned; it was hard to make out the marks under everything else. His back is a mess. I suspect a minor fracture in one leg, a fracture in one arm, and at least two broken ribs.  I really have no idea how he was standing, much less fighting and getting us out of there.”

Laz was staring at him in shock. James just nodded grimly. “That’s our Colonel.”  James looked at Sherlock, “What happened to you?”

“I was given frighteningly pure heroin.  They let me start to come down, then shot me up again; after a few times, they threw me in with Sebastian.” He looked down at his empty tea cup. “Oh, thank you,” as James poured him more.

“They told me, they wanted me to deduce him, as well as give them the other information I had on Moriarty’s web.”

Laz looked thoughtful, “Deduce him? Oh, they figured you’d get stuff they would miss?”

“Yes.  He promised to kill me, but before it came to that I managed to get the keys.  We made up some rather pitiful explosives and got out.” He sighed, “And since it will come up, he took a bag full of the drugs with us to help me come down, and I ended up overdosing when he was unconscious–that was after I got him the antibiotics.”

James was raising an eyebrow. “You’re lucky to be alive, mate.”

“Yes.”

Laz nodded, “Right, so Sebastian has you set as someone he is rescuing, and you helped save his life.” He shook his head, “I don’t know who his heir is, but for all our sakes I hope Sebastian pulls through.”

“So do I.” Sherlock nodded, and then muttered into his tea, “I like him.”

James held out a hand. “Yeah? Well, he’s gonna make it, and so are you.  I’m not going to have to tell John that I lost his best mate and the Colonel.”

Sherlock shook hands on it.  Laz and James got him food and ended up putting him to bed, promising that they would wake him up if he could do anything.

He went to sleep alone for the first time since meeting Sebastian.  He hated it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treachery, betrayal, and death

The web was subtle and far flung, but it still took time to realize that the network of the British Government was also looking into the place where Sebastian Moran had been held.

Why?  After consideration, the likeliest answer was that they also were trying to control or destroy the web–why not? It was logical. Still… the enemy of my enemy…

Information from the web was quietly given to the network.

*

Sebastian Moran spent the next several days only barely conscious as his body finally got to rest. Molly let Sherlock visit after the first day, since neither of them were sleeping well.  Much to her shock, Sherlock climbed into bed with him, careful of the IV line, and they both slept peacefully for ten hours.

They slept together–just slept–every night thereafter.

*

Mycroft Holmes looked suspiciously at a collection of information: it was too convenient, but it seemed to be true.  If this was so, they could begin dismantling the drug operation that had held his brother–his brother who was still missing. He’d been given some names, some last known locations.

He began setting agents after them.

He considered the threat to his brother, and he set extra guards on John Watson–John Watson, who had unexpectedly moved back to 221B.

*

Sherlock would have been bored out of his mind except that he was able to talk to Sebastian for part of the day.  The rest of the day he spent playing an increasingly elaborate game of bluffing poker with James and Laz; once he was well enough, they moved the game into Sebastian’s room.

Molly kept chewing her lip and looking worried at him.  He finally got her alone in the kitchen. “I’m alright. Really. Well, a bit bored, but other than that.”

“I just worry about you.  You… seem very fond of Sebastian?”

“He’s a surprisingly intelligent fellow.” Sherlock decided against mentioning his skills at sex–Molly had reacted poorly to being told “Jim” was gay, after all. “And he did save my life.”

She nodded dubiously.

Once Sebastian was well enough to play card games, Sherlock decided it was time to talk to him.

So during a brief snack break between hands–Sherlock was winning, of course, but he couldn’t possibly eat all the pretzels, so he redistributed them after each game–he simply stated, “James and Laz say you wouldn’t shoot John.”

This caused a bit of consternation as Sebastian started coughing and had to hold a pillow until he was sure his ribs were alright.  He stared at Sherlock, “Right, no subtlety at all.”

“No, none,” Sherlock agreed politely. “Nor tact. Well?”

He sighed. _Yup, the other two were watching, too.  James was smirking, damn it_. “No, I was never going to shoot John.”

“But you were the sniper on him at the pool.”

“Yes.”

“Did Moriarty know–“

“Of COURSE he knew.  As soon as I found out your flatmate was John, I sat down and talked with him!”

“Then… why?”  Sherlock was so confused.

“If I was his sniper then we didn’t have to worry about anyone else getting trigger happy.” Sebastian sighed.

“And the explosives?”

“Calculated risk,” Sebastian muttered.  “Jim–Moriarty–always went with the big, flashy options. I tend to be a lot more conservative,” he shrugged, “which you already commented on.”

“Would… would your heir bother him?”

Sebastian frowned. “Maybe?  Probably not as long as you weren’t responsible for me dying or anything. He’s friends with too many people, anyway.” He nodded at James. “Now mind you, that’s US... that’s the web.  People like who had the two of us?  They might go after him–probably would.”

Sherlock frowned unhappily; so did James.

Sebastian reminded them all, “And we KNOW that we had him bugged, and we have a leak. Which means no one tells him anything or says anything that puts a target on him, or tips them off.”

After several more days, Molly sat down with the two of them. Sherlock noted that she had had a perplexed look on her face almost the entire time since she’d been here.  He assumed that she simply couldn’t understand the practical issues of them working together.

“Sebastian, you’re going to need to keep taking the medication, and watching out for any issues, but you don’t need a doctor on standby anymore.  I probably could have left already.

“Sherlock? You were over the worst of the problems before I got here, but as far as I can tell you’re fine now.”

She looked worriedly at Sebastian, “What happens now?”

Sebastian shook his head and smiled at her. “You go home. Sherlock gives you a note, and you get it to Watson.  That’s all.”  He stopped smiling. “Seriously, though, make it clear to Watson that you CANNOT talk about it, and don’t let anyone else talk you into anything.” He gave her a brief hug, which seemed to surprise her. “You’ll get contacted eventually through the usual means.  You can tell your contact whatever you want, of course.”

“Yes, of course.” She looked lost.

Sherlock nodded. “I’ll write a note out.  If my brother talks to you, tell him I made you promise not to say anything, and tell him about the note, alright?”

He wrote out a rough draft, Sebastian made a few suggestions–and muttered about geniuses, which flattered Sherlock and made Sebastian laugh when he realized how flattered he was.  The final copy was checked by Sebastian and given to Molly to be delivered to John.

“Remember, the only place we know has been checked properly for bugs is your place.  Try to get him to come over. Failing that, get it to him at St. Bart’s, but all by handwriting.” Sebastian looked at her firmly. “Assume his phone is bugged and may record sound.  I may be being paranoid, but better safe than sorry, ‘kay?”

She nodded.

Sherlock kissed her on the forehead gently. “Be safe.”

James took her away: he would be escorting her back home.

Once she was out of sight, Sherlock turned to Sebastian, “If any of them are harmed–“

“Sherlock, none of them have been harmed in all the time I’ve been running things, right? Not even when you came back.  Just trust me.”

Sherlock sighed. “Well, now that we don’t have a chaperone are you well enough to continue with our last experiments?”

Sebastian groaned. “Yes, I am, and by GOD you have to learn to say things differently: it’s a turn off.”

Sherlock frowned. “It felt incredibly good, and I want to see if you can repeat it.”

Laz cleared his throat from the kitchen. “Are you talking about what I THINK you’re talking about?”

Sebastian sighed. “Sex, mostly.”

“So… he really was a Virgin?” he looked at Sherlock, but sounded dubious.

“No.” Sherlock said, sounding a touch irritated. “But it never felt like that, and I’d never done that before.”

Sebastian grumbled, “He might as well have been.”

Sherlock looked at Laz, “Do I take it then you don’t harbor any of this ridiculous prejudice based on gender?”

Laz just grinned, having dealt with him this long, “Once more for the common lot?”

Sebastian shrugged, “Apparently every time he thought about trying something with Watson, Watson was busy being a bit homophobic.”

Sherlock frowned, “John isn’t homophobic, he simply insisted that HE wasn’t gay.  He doesn’t seem to have any issues with anyone ELSE being gay.”

“Oh.” Laz nodded. “No, it’s all the same to me who anyone sleeps with.  Not my interests, but as long as it doesn’t interfere.” He shrugged. “Some of the other lads might be upset about it, I suppose.” He glanced at Sebastian, “Oi, remember tall Jim?” Laz shuddered.

Sebastian flinched. “Don’t remind me, ever.”

“What? Who was tall Jim?”

Laz quietly said, “Tall Jim made the mistake of going off about ‘ponces’ and ‘fags’ in front of Mr. Moriarty.”

Sebastian nodded, he looked a bit green. “Yeah, well. Enough about that.”

“Any chance I would have been involved in the case?”

Sebastian shook his head firmly, “Trust me, no one ever found the body.”

“Ah yes, well with Moriarty having sex with you that would be–“

“What?!” Laz stared at him.

Sebastian slapped his forehead. “Right, Sherlock? That’s confidential, ok?”

“Oh, why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I sort of assumed you would know, how silly of me.”

“Yes, yes it was. How can I know that if you don’t tell me?”

“Well, given how freaked you were about a hickey, I assumed you would keep that information PRIVATE.”

“It’s not the same thing at all–“

Laz whistled sharply. “Right, you two SOUND like you’ve been married, or at least dating.  Anyway.” He turned to Sebastian and dropped his voice, “YOU?  You WERE?  How many of the rumors were true?”

Sebastian looked at him. “Tea. Lots of tea.”

As they were walking into the kitchen, Sebastian gestured at Laz, and Laz nodded.  Laz quietly handed Sherlock a pistol.  Sherlock frowned but didn’t say anything.

They sat down around a pot of tea and Sebastian sighed, “Ok, I don’t know if the rumors were true, because I have no idea what rumors you heard.”

Sherlock nodded, “A common issue.”

“Mr. Moriarty supposedly had a virgin every night?”

Sebastian snorted. “He didn’t have an ANYTHING every night. He hated boredom.” Sebastian shrugged, “I’m sure he tried everything at least once–well, most things–but he didn’t have a virginity fetish, no.”

“People actually have that?” frowned Sherlock. “A fetish for virginity?”

Sebastian nodded, “Yeah, some do. Some just don’t like sharing or being compared.  Jim didn’t particularly care about virginity–at least, not so I noticed.”

“Supposedly he was into all sorts of weird kinks…”

Sebastian shrugged, “The man hated boredom with a passion, so he probably tried it, sure. I can’t say anything about specific kinks, but I wouldn’t be shocked if he tried something.”

Sherlock nodded sympathetically. “Boredom is horrible.”

“Well obviously the ‘doesn’t actually indulge’ and ‘lives like a monk’ are right–“

Sebastian was holding his pillow to his chest wheezing. “Warn a guy?  Look, Jim was no monastic.  He did forget to eat–and might lose interest in sex–when he was dealing with something interesting enough, but that’s about it.”

At that moment one of the “outside guards” came in, holding a gun.  Unfortunately he was followed by two other fellows holding guns.

“Just put the gun down, ‘Boss’,” The man smiled sharply.

Laz looked carefully at the two men backing him and put his gun down with exaggerated care.

Sebastian lied, “Don’t have one on me.  Still can’t handle the kick. What happened to Charles?”

Mark– _because if Charles was being asked after, this had to be Mark_ –smiled darkly, “Cut his throat.”

“And your friends here?”

“We came to retrieve you, Mr. Moran.  You left in such a hurry.”

“Yeah, I did. Wasn’t fond of the food.”  He stood up, clutching the pillow to his chest. Their eyes followed him, which was the mistake he had counted on.

Sherlock fired three times rapidly: he hit Mark in the gut, one of the men in the chest, and one in the cheek.

Laz pulled his second gun and shot Mark in the chest, then shot the man coming into the doorway behind them.

Sebastian just grinned. “So, our car is here. Shall we?”

Sherlock stopped smiling, “Molly?”

Sebastian laughed, “I had a bunch of our lads meeting them just off the property–James knows them, they’ll be fine.  I figured if they were going to make a move, it would be once they knew I didn’t need a doctor anymore.  Besides, it took Mark a bit to contact them without tipping us off.” He frowned, “Pity about Charles– we thought he was one of theirs too.”

Bullets strafed the villa from the beach side. They all went down.

“Hey, Laz?” Sebastian asked pleasantly. “Get me one of their rifles, would you?”

“Right.” He crawled over and got most of them.

Sebastian made his way to a window, and set up.

Laz was firing from another window, moving faster and with less care, taking out anyone foolish enough to show themselves.

Sherlock covered Sebastian’s back, watching.  The man’s breathing slowed, steadied, his eyes focused, and his finger pulled gently.  He did that three more times.  He was smiling ever so faintly.

“Goodbye, Jerry,” Sebastian said quietly. Sherlock looked over at him.

They had been four–now they were three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes one of the people Sebastian shot was "Jerry" the guy who shot up Sherlock and helped torture them both. he died too quickly, ah well.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> points of view, and letters home

They went down to the beach and pushed the boat out to sea.  Sebastian and Laz spent a few minutes making certain that all the fallen bodies really were dead.

Sherlock stood staring down at Jerry–the man who’d given him the heroin.  He lay untouched except for a single small neat hole in his forehead–and the resulting larger one in the back–fallen behind the cover he had been using.  Sherlock looked at the position, and looked back at the house.  He calculated the skills needed to make that shot, and remembered the pool.

“Sherlock? We have to go,” Sebastian said quietly.

“Oh, yes. Sorry.” They got into a car–the one with the fewest bullet holes–and headed north.

Laz stated pleasantly, “We’ll switch cars in a couple hours.”

Sebastian was texting someone, and eventually said “Molly and company got to the airport. They’ll be out of here soon.”

Sherlock relaxed just a fraction.

After they changed cars, Sherlock spoke again. “Sebastian?”

“Yes?”

“Based on the shot you took down Jerry with–excellent work, by the way–I have to concede that you never had any intention of shooting John.  Thank you.”

Sebastian smiled, “No, I never did, and you’re welcome, but what convinced you?”

“If you could make that shot, at that range, with that amount of cover, you could easily have taken John down from behind Moriarty.”

Sebastian nodded. “I told you. Trust me.”

“Oddly enough, I already did.”

*

Molly Hooper had found herself surrounded by more of the web’s people.  She spent several hours sincerely wishing she had never heard of Jim Moriarty. James ordered her ginger ale on the flight home.

*

Word came to Mycroft that a gun fight had broken out along the coast, and several of the suspects in the drug smuggling operation had been found dead.  Mycroft wondered what it meant, and if yet another agency was involved.  There was still no word of his brother, but at least no body.

John Watson was calling more often, now, asking about Sherlock.  Mycroft knew he would eventually have to tell him something.

*

“We’re heading to a safe house in Germany.” Sebastian answered, once they crossed the Italian border.

Laz muttered, “I think it was simpler back when I just thought about England.”

“C’mon, you took assignments all over!”

“Assignments, yes, but I wasn’t used to thinking about us being a multinational, you know?”

Sherlock frowned, “Just how far flung was Moriarty’s web? I took down branches all over Europe.”

“You? Wait… HE was behind the–“

Sebastian smirked, “You didn’t know that? Yes, that was mostly Sherlock, cooperating with his brother who works more officially in government.”

“He IS the government,” Sherlock said drily.

“He likes to think so, I suppose.” Sebastian shrugged. “But Magnussen was closer.” He looked at Sherlock thoughtfully, “I wish you hadn’t shot him.”

“Why? He worked for you? That seems unlikely.”

Sebastian stared at him. “Oh.”

_What have I missed?_ Sherlock’s mind palace shifted and images came and went.  He looked back up at Sebastian. “Magnussen was with them, like Jerry.  He was part of the cartel competing with you.”

Sebastian nodded.

“Who’s Magnussen? Isn’t he a publisher or something?” asked Laz.

“Blackmailer.” Sebastian shrugged, “One of their bigger guns. You can’t take down their cabal if your allies turn on you because of blackmail.  Sherlock shot him, apparently.” He winced, “They were upset.”

_Of course, Sebastian being their prisoner would have suffered from their “upset”._   Sherlock tentatively put an arm around him for comfort; people seemed to like that.

“Laz? Keep your eyes on your driving.” Sebastian said, and pulled Sherlock in for a kiss.

_It wasn’t as good as before–it was better._

*

The web lost sight of them after they crossed the Italian border, which was good: they would be safe while the remaining threats were hunted. Sebastian Moran was safe, for now; that was all that mattered.

*

John wasn’t planning on answering the phone, but it was Molly. “Hello?”

“John?” Her voice had the forced cheerfulness he associated with something being wrong. “Can you come over to my office?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing… Ok, well, it’s personal?  I don’t know anyone else I can talk to; they’ll make fun of me.”

John softened just a bit.  He was still angry that she’d known that Sherlock was alive, but the girl had such an obvious crush on Sherlock–he’d taken advantage. “Sure, Molly. I’ll be over in a few.”

_Oh, Lord… She’s gone and found another Sherlock lookalike, hasn’t she?_

John arrived at St. Bart’s and went down to Molly’s. She looked unnervingly relieved to see him.  She also had a bit of a tan.

“You look… uh…tan?”

“Just got back from vacation!” she said too brightly, and handed him a note:

You’re bugged, do not SAY anything. Leave your phone and come with me–PLEASE!

Living with Sherlock had done wonders to train John for this, even if he hadn’t known it until this moment. 

“Well, it looks good on you!” he said taking out his phone. “How about a photo?”

She smiled and he took one, making sure not to get anything but her face and the wall. He turned the phone off and put it down.  “You met a guy on vacation?”

“Does it show?” If this had been real, she would have ducked her head and looked shy; as it was, she was looking at him intensely, and glancing at the phone.

“A bit,” he smiled reassuringly and nodded. “Want to go somewhere and talk about it?”

“Can we go to my place?” She suddenly looked genuinely concerned. “Or will Mary be upset?”

“I’m… we’re separated for right now,” he admitted. “But she knows you better than that–she won’t mind.”

“Oh, NO!  I’m so sorry…” She kept babbling at him as they left.

She didn’t say anything in the car except about Mary and John, and she didn’t mention Sherlock once–which even John noticed was odd. Eventually she started talking about Glee, and how she’d missed episodes but she hoped they had recorded.

John began to realize why Sherlock was sometimes–alright, usually–brusque with people.

They got to her house and she made him take his coat off in the car.  _Right, bugs_. When she walked in, still talking about Glee, she picked up a small device and ran it carefully over him, watching it, then over herself.

John was staring at a frequency scanner that had to be Government Issue _.  Molly? Molly was a spy? Mycroft, of course! God DAMN that man._

“Oh, thank God,” she said, collapsing onto a sofa. “Alright, we can talk. I’ll turn on Glee just in case–it’s okay, it’s an older episode.”

“You work for MYCROFT?”

“What?” She looked honestly bewildered.

“The scanner? The whole cloak and dagger bit?”

“Oh. No… no, I don’t.  I don’t want to talk to him. I c-can’t.” She started shaking.  John suddenly realized she was terrified.

He came over and wrapped his arms around her, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.   It’s okay, you’re safe…”

“Maybe. Probably. I don’t know. But I have a message for you.”

“For me? Oh, someone wanted to threaten me through you?”

“No, here.” She handed him an unmarked envelope. A sheet of paper inside was folded over a smaller piece of paper.  Something was very familiar about the way the paper inside was folded so precisely. Then he recognized Sherlock’s handwriting and had to steady himself before he could read it.

 

“John,

The situation is complex, but the important point is that I am safe–for some value of safe–and in hiding. I was kidnapped on my way to where Mycroft sent me, but escaped. I am being hunted, and assume they have you under watch.

Stay close to home, and give the other note to Mycroft.  You are very likely to be a target.  Molly took a great deal of risk to get this to you, and she MUST NOT be any further involved just now.  If Mycroft insists on dealing with her, hand him THIS note, but not unless you have to.

Molly is very brave, but she will be killed if she comes to the wrong attention; please keep her safely anonymous.

I don’t know when I can come back this time, John.

Sherlock”

 

He opened the inner note, which was addressed to Mycroft, mentioned John as taking risks, not Molly, and rather emphatically told Mycroft to worry about finding the people involved in an exploding building in Italy.

_Italy?_

He looked up, “Thank you, Molly.”

She nodded and hugged him. “He’ll be okay,” she nodded firmly. “I can’t tell you anything else.”

“I understand,” John said, although he was certain he didn’t. “How about if I pretend to be hooked on Glee, too, now?” He frowned at the television. “It would give you an excuse to call me over if you had to.”

She brightened up quite happily. “Really? It would be wonderful to have someone else to talk to about it!”

John tried not to groan. “I suppose I have a lot to catch up on?”

“I’ll loan you the DVDs!”

“Right.”

He didn’t pick up his phone until the next morning–when Molly called his office to tell him he’d left it.


	14. Chapter 14

They arrived at a home in Germany, in one of the wealthier areas. _For the area it appeared to be less rich, with more grounds around it and a smaller house.  The garage had living spaces over it, and there was what appeared to be a small building–perhaps for the gardener?–at the edge of the grounds._

_There were also dogs, and humans, on patrol._

Sebastian cleared Laz and Sherlock in, and went to the house.  It had a biometric palm lock as well as a combination keypad. Sherlock stared at it‑ so did Laz. It opened to Sebastian’s palm, and Sherlock’s birthday.  Sherlock thought he should be unnerved by that.

“I’ve only ever been here once before,” Sebastian said, “so give me a minute to get settled.”  He started checking the contents of the pantry, which appeared to be stocked to survive the apocalypse.

Laz whistled, “Twenty-five-year shelf life stuff? You put this in?” He was looking at a can labeled “Instant Scrambled Eggs”.

“No, I inherited this: it’s one of Moriarty’s houses; he had a policy against perishables.” He grinned. “Said one time he came back to a safe house and found the ‘fridge plotting a revolt.”

“Impressive, if eerie. The combination was unsettling,” said Sherlock.

Sebastian frowned, “Oh, of course you could get the numbers; I keep forgetting. Why is it unsettling?”

“You don’t know?”

“I didn’t set it, Jim did.  Like I said, only been here once before.”

Laz interrupted, “I’ve been driving while you two necked in the back and napped–where do I crash?”

“Sorry, Laz.” Sebastian looked guilty. “Come on. You get the guard rooms in the house.”

They went to a small suite of rooms with a private bath–and a gun safe.  He opened it to reveal several sniper rifles, and a large array of smaller weapons.

Laz was looking around the room, which Sherlock had to admit was comfortable looking–luxurious, even–for a guard. “Oh, my GOD… Did you ever stay here?”

“Errr... No. the one time I was here, I was already sleeping with Jim. I stayed in the Master Suite.”

“I love you like a brother, Sebastian, but get out... I have a date with the bathtub and bed.”

Sebastian grinned and pulled Sherlock to another section of the house, with its own security locked door. Sherlock noted the combination was different: he didn’t recognize the numbers specifically.

It was as if it was a separate apartment: there was a sitting room, what appeared to be a conference room full of computers and cameras, and a door to what he presumed was the master bedroom.

Sebastian slipped off his shoes, and indicated for Sherlock to do the same.  There was a spot to put them near the door.

“Impressive” Sherlock looked around at the room.  _Small things out of place, unusual wear marks on some of the chairs–people had been restrained here._

“Oh, yes. Jim never skimped, if he had a choice.” Sebastian closed the door to the conference room and locked it. “A bath sounds great.” Sebastian grinned evilly at Sherlock. “Then I get to see you in a collar.”

“What?” He allowed himself to be pulled into a room with its own washer and dryer, and a steam cabinet for suits… Sebastian stripped down and started sorting laundry.

“I never imagined you so fastidious,” Sherlock said, following his example. “Although it’s pleasant.”

“Blame Jim for that. God help you if you messed up his rugs or his Westwood.” He frowned, “Or put a drink down on anything but a coaster.  Never again.” He made a face.

They walked through to a bathroom the size of most people’s bedrooms. Sebastian pulled him into a shower and Sherlock’s brain shut down.

Sebastian was kissing him and rubbing soap into him; his hands were everywhere, while Sherlock was pressed up against the wall.   Eventually, he let Sherlock go to help wash Sebastian’s back, which needed careful handling since so much of it was new skin.

“Why did Jim stock soap suitable to this in his bathroom?”

“Sometimes he played rough; you had to be able to clean up anyway.  He has other soaps, too; I grabbed this one.” Sebastian grinned, “It’s also not a low risk career, and people get hurt.”

“He questioned people here.”

“How do you know THAT?” Sebastian was opening a closet that appeared to be fully stocked with bandages, slings, and compression sleeves. Sherlock took a bit to answer, staring at that.

“Marks on the furniture…”

Sebastian pulled him into the bedroom.  Sherlock stared. There were restraint points EVERYWHERE.  The bed was made for them– _literally custom made for them–_ and the walls had small rings in them at regular intervals.  One entire wall was filled floor to ceiling with deep wood cabinets.

Sebastian grinned at Sherlock’s panicked expression. “I’m not going to hurt you… much.” He pushed him back against the door, which closed with hardly a sound, and growled in Sherlock’s ear, “Now what were you saying about repeating that experiment?”

Sherlock stuttered a bit and then rather more breathily than intended answered, “I wanted to see if it was repeatable.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet. Now let’s get a collar on you.”

“C-collars usually are for slaves, aren’t they?” Sherlock tried and failed to sound casual.

“Slaves,” Sebastian nodded, “and special pets.  You wanted to stop being bored, Sherlock?  You want to stop THINKING so much for a bit?”

Sherlock’s attention sharpened. “Yes….”

“And you like the pleasure of heroin, right?’

“Unfortunately.”

“Heroin mimics the chemicals produced during orgasm,” Sebastian said pleasantly. “Sex is way better than methadone,” he grinned wickedly, “especially with endorphins and adrenaline.”

_It… it would be, wouldn’t it._

He opened one of the cabinets and came out with a black leather collar, like you would use for a dog, but with a lock for a closure. Sebastian held it out. Sherlock looked it over. _No, it wasn’t like a dog collar. It was designed to fit low around the neck, and shaped to rest comfortably‑ possibly even to hide under a shirt collar._

“Put it on, and you belong to me,” Sebastian said calmly. Sherlock stared at him. “But you get a safeword, and I’ll let you leave if you want.” He grinned at him. “I guarantee you, you won’t be BORED.”

Sherlock shuddered _. Bored._ God knows he’d done worse, and more damaging things, to avoid boredom.  He looked thoughtfully at Sebastian. “Safeword?”

Sebastian pulled him over to sit down on the bed. “Lots of people say ‘No’ in bed, but don’t REALLY want you to stop.  Also, a lot of people do fantasy play. Anyway, a safeword is a code phrase that means ‘this time I really mean it, stop now’.  There can be other ones for ‘I just need a break’, or ‘I don’t want to stop but I don’t like THAT’, and so on.”

Sherlock nodded, “That makes sense.”

“I dare say you’re like Jim and will be able to remember all sorts of complicated codes even in the middle of things, but I can’t.” He shook his head. “I tend to stick to the basics.”

“Which are?”

“Color codes are simplest: green means ‘I’m fine’; yellow means ‘slow down’, or ‘I need a break’; red means ‘stop everything’.  Usually people pick a word that always means ‘full stop’, too.”  He shrugged. “Mine’s ‘Afghanistan’.”

Sherlock nodded, running his hands over the collar.  It was soft, and heavy, and, Sherlock suspected, would fit him unnervingly well.  Sebastian kept running his eyes over Sherlock’s nude body; it felt intimidating, but somehow exciting–almost as though there was a case, or people were shooting at him.

“If you get gagged, there are non-verbal signals,” Sebastian said thoughtfully. “Like John blinking SOS at you at the pool.”

“You saw… Oh. Yes, you would.”

Sebastian  chuckled. “So… how far are you willing to go to avoid being bored, Sherlock?  Far enough to put yourself into my collar?”

Sherlock looked thoughtfully at the collar, and the simple lock hanging off of it.  It would be nothing to cut the collar off, or to pick the lock, but he knew what Sebastian intended… he’d be entirely at his mercy, and probably restrained.

Still, Sebastian was giving him a choice… and he did trust him… and he was actually interested…

And Sherlock hated being bored.

He put the collar around his own neck and clicked the lock shut. “So, now what?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> explicit   
> mild TW: memories of past abuse

When John called Mycroft‑again‑ asking about Sherlock, he used some peculiar word choices. He needed to see him and something was very odd.  Mycroft sent a car.

When John walked in, he handed him a note: I may be bugged, including my phone.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, “Oh, terribly sorry, John, have to ask you to turn your phone in, we can’t have any cameras today.”

“Hmm? Oh! Sorry.” He sounded perfectly perplexed and handed over the phone. 

Mycroft dropped it into a signal blocking bag. He got out a scanner. John looked at it as though he’d seen one before. _Where?_

John had a tracker in his jacket near the collar‑ _mine, of course_ ‑ and a tracker inside the hem‑ _not mine._   Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a tracker, and not one of mine.” He looked at John. “Your phone?”

“Might be bugged, I don’t know. I got a message from Sherlock.”

Mycroft almost gasped. “How did he reach you?”

John handed him a note.  _Italian stationary, watermarked to… the ownership of a vacation villa in Italy‑so that HAD been related to Sherlock._

“Mycroft,

The situation is complex, but the important point is that I am safe‑ for some value of safe‑ and in hiding. I was kidnapped on my way, but escaped. I am being hunted, and assume they have John and my other associates under watch.

I was held in a facility in Italy, part of the heroin trade into England. Yes, they used that. It should be easy to find the place as it exploded a bit. There were at least two people running the operation, and more whom I never saw. One called Jerry was running heroin into England in competition with any of Moriarty’s holdings– he is a very dangerous man, brother mine; if he catches me again, I will not likely survive.

John is very brave, but he will be killed if he comes to the wrong attention; please keep him safe.

Sherlock.”

 

“How did you get this?” Mycroft asked him.

“He rather specifically didn’t want the method getting out,” John said. “How long ago was he kidnapped? He said on his WAY… you’ve known for how long?”

Mycroft looked at John. “I will only answer that if you tell me how he got this to you.”

John glared at him. “Then you won’t know.”

“I will find out.”

“And I will have kept my promise of not giving it to you unless I have to.” John shrugged. “What information do you have about where he is now? What exploding building?”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why should I tell you? He wants you kept out of it.”

“I read this, Mycroft.” John glared at him. “They OBVIOUSLY shot him up.”

“Yes. People were asking about his habits here in England. We found that out,” Mycroft said quietly.

“I’ve treated addicts, Mycroft. You know that.”

“Yes, I do.  I also know this much, if they get their hands on YOU, John, Sherlock will walk right back into their trap.  I’m afraid I have to put you in protective custody.”

“No. Use me as bait.”

“What?”

“I’m used to it,” John said calmly. “People are hunting Sherlock? Then we use me to bait them out.”

*

Sebastian was looking hungrily at Sherlock: nude except for his collar and the matching cuffs on his wrists. He locked the cuffs together, and fastened them on a loose chain to the head of the bed.

“I could get out of these,” Sherlock said calmly, but his pupils were  huge.

“I know, that was the point for the first time.” Sebastian smiled.  “Just don’t. Later I’ll put you in some you can’t get out of.”  He got out a tube of something‑ _lubrication_ ‑ and looked down at him. “I like hearing you enjoy yourself, but don’t worry about holding back if you need to say something, or yell. These rooms are frightfully soundproofed.”

Sherlock imagined the uses Moriarty would put soundproofed rooms– and this level of restraints– to, and started to feel some real fear.  _Sebastian was his HEIR, he’d worked with him; and no matter how pleasant he might be, that was terrifying._

“I’ll only stop for safewords.  Go ahead and let go.”  Then suddenly he had a hand on Sherlock’s penis and was stroking it heavily and he leaned down and… bit… and sucked at his nipple…

~

Sebastian grinned as Sherlock’s mouth opened and quiet, desperate noises started pouring out of him.  _That hadn’t taken long_.  He leaned down and bit and sucked a dark mark right over Sherlock’s heart, idly noting a scar from a bullet far too close.

“You’ve been a bit careless, Sherlock; you’re not allowed to risk MY property like that,” he said, carefully running his tongue over the scar‑ _not all that old._

He went down on him, no longer as restricted by pain and position, teasing him unmercifully with his tongue, finding all the places that made him lose control,  until Sherlock was begging incoherently.  Sebastian idly noted that incoherently for Sherlock used a lot bigger words than most people, but still, they weren’t stringing together well.

“Anything… exquisite… is this why?...”  Then for some reason a series of numbers– which Sebastian was used to from Jim, but hadn’t expected from Sherlock.   Sebastian kept working swallowing him down and pulling back until there was only a single point of contact until Sherlock broke down to, “Fuck… More… God…” which took a surprising amount of time.

_So very easy…_   Sebastian swallowed him down again and moved a well lubricated finger inside of him; he never even had to use it before Sherlock came with a scream that drifted down like music into moans.  _Oh, that sound was heavenly._ Sebastian had never heard anyone make such a beautiful noise.

Sebastian flipped him over and pulled a pillow under him to raise his hips. Sherlock was limp and pliable right now, and Sebastian intended to use that. He moved a finger inside of him and started working gently with the lubrication.  He had two inside of him before Sherlock came down from his post orgasmic bliss enough to tense up.

Sebastian leaned down and bit into his back near a scar‑ _must have been a small caliber_ ‑ and Sherlock moaned and twisted under his body.  Sebastian got a bit rougher with his fingers and Sherlock started whimpering.

“Your safewords are all that count… go ahead.”

“No… please don’t… I don’t like…” and Sebastian smirked into his back and crooked his fingers hard inside him. Sherlock bucked and moaned, trying to deny he wanted it, failing.

“I think I know what you like,” Sebastian murmured, kissing and biting down his back, while he worked inside of him. “I would normally work you open more, but I want you to FEEL this.” Sherlock was screaming deep in his throat. Sebastian couldn’t wait to deep throat him.

He used more lubrication than was probably called for, he wanted him to feel every single bit of this intensely, but he didn’t want to damage him.

~

Sherlock had felt his mind faltering as Sebastian had gone down on him again. It felt rather as though his mind had scattered into a flock of birds‑ more or less going in the same direction, but no longer connected.  As his mouth moved and sensations apparently went straight from his groin to his brain, he tried to process it, tried to pay attention.  _Pressure, suction, fluttering, moving._ He couldn’t keep his mind on anything but _MORE!_   It was far too much like heroin: his mind eventually whiting out and shutting down into a warm soft haze.

He distantly felt himself moved over and a warm liquid and fingers….

Memories pulled him back into his body, memories he thought he had deleted or at least banished. Memories of being forced into, doing anything for another hit.  He cried out, and tried to speak…

“No… please don’t… I don’t like…” He remembered his safewords and was about to say “Red”, when a hit like pure heroin raced up his spine and took his ability to speak with it.

“I think I know what you like,” Sebastian said, and all Sherlock could do was ride the waves of sensation and feel a new addiction take hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is in fact consensual, Sherlock didn't use his safeword, so while Sebastian knows he was panicking, or starting to,... he never told him "Stop" and at the time he was about to? um... well yeah he got mightily distracted.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poker games, veterans, and snipers

Three days after John had spoken to Mycroft, the first attempt to kidnap John was foiled. John wasn’t even aware of it, but a would-be kidnapper found himself in Mycroft’s clutches, and broke within a day.

*

A week after that, John was sitting down with some buddies from the war for their monthly veterans’ pot luck and poker game: James was in town, as was Dan; a fellow he didn’t know called Guffy‑ it was at his house this time; and a female veteran he vaguely remembered named Sarah. The others had left earlier, and they were down to final hands, too much beer‑or just tea for a few of them who didn’t drink‑and old war stories.

“So Mary and I are in counseling, but it’s difficult because we’re both veterans…” John said, not knowing how to say “because she’s an ex-assassin on the run” and “she shot my best friend”.

“Yeah, it’s tough,” Sarah nodded. “Most counselors just don’t have a clue about women vets.”

“And it’s complicated by some other issues.” John said morosely.

James patted his shoulder. “Maybe you can bring her to the poker game next time?”

And at that moment, a group of armed men kicked in the door, one of them pushing Mary ahead of him with a gun to her head.

For John, it was like everything slowed down and magnified:  he could see James’ hand twitch to a gun‑ which he shouldn’t have, and John hadn’t known he did; Sarah screamed and dove for the floor; Dan sat there with a pretzel half way to his mouth; and Guffy moved both hands under the table.  John felt acutely aware of how very far it was from his hand to his pistol, and wondered if this was how Sherlock saw the world all the time. _No wonder he thought everything was dull._

“John Watson?” A man walked in, dressed in a suit. He reminded John of Moriarty, only somehow less friendly. “Unless you want your wife’s brains splattered all over this nice house, I think you should put these on.”  He tossed a pair of handcuffs directly at John.

Guffy kicked the table over and fired a shotgun at the people to the left: the blast stung John’s arm, but ripped the targets apart. James rolled right and took down the man to the right of Mary. A sniper from out of nowhere put a neat hole in the gun hand of the man holding Mary, and his hand spasmed open.

Mary grabbed the gun before it fell, kicked the man holding her, and fired into the shoulder of the man with the handcuffs.

Guffy stood up and racked the shotgun again. _The sound certainly did get your attention._ “You’ve already messed up my house… I don’t mind a bit more guts on the floor.”

The red dot of a sniper rifle re-targeted to one of their heads.

John had only just managed to draw his gun, handcuffs sliding off his lap, when Mary‑ still holding  her gun on the man in charge- backed away toward John and said, “John? I think you need to tell me a bit more about your monthly poker games.”

There were still three, but only two were still at large.

*

At that moment, Sebastian was enjoying one of his favorite sights: Sherlock, arms outstretched to the bed posts, holding on to the silk cords, while Sebastian flogged him.

Nothing held him there but his own grip on the cords, and right now they were all that was holding him up, as Sherlock counted the strikes.  His voice was already soft and hard to hear, and Sebastian knew that by now his eyes were pools of black to match his hair and collar, with a thin sliver of blue around them.

Sebastian aimed his final strikes to create a crisscross lattice across Sherlock’s  thighs, buttocks, and back.  Sherlock would let this continue until he passed out‑ an addiction stronger than heroin.

Sebastian stopped.

Sherlock moaned deep in his throat, something that sounded suspiciously like “More”.

“Get on the bed.”

It took Sherlock a remarkable amount of time to let go of the ropes, and unwind them from around his wrists.  _Oh, he was going to be a treat tonight._   Sebastian had been right: Sherlock bruised easily and beautifully on that white skin, and endorphins sent him flying higher than heroin ever had.

Sherlock placed himself on the bed, legs tucked under him, toes curled down, face down on the mattress and arms stretched to the head board: a position of utter surrender, by appearance; in fact, begging for more, always more.

“Please, I want you inside of me.”

Sebastian moved and wrapped himself around him: he knew how much Sherlock loved to be held tight; lying on the bed without arms or bindings holding him was an expression of submission, not his desires– he liked pressure and security. _I can hardly wait until the order gets here; he’s going to love some of the leather, especially the single sleeve._

“Of course, Sherlock. You’re so beautiful like this.” It had only taken a few days to teach him how to ask for things without sounding like a bloody computer.  He still sounded insanely put together, even when he wasn’t.

Sebastian pulled the plug out of him, and almost purred at the needy moan. He slid his body over Sherlock’s and laced his fingers through his over his head and pushed inside him.  The plug was just a bit smaller than it should have been, so Sherlock always moaned and arched backwards with the stretch.

Sebastian pulled his arms back, lifting Sherlock into an upright kneel and forcing him deeper on to him.  Sherlock moaned again and arched his back, shoulders flexing against Sebastian holding his hands in place.  Sherlock was stronger than he looked, but Sebastian was a sniper, and his arms were corded muscle. He started rocking back and forth, driving himself deeper onto Sebastian.

He’d gone from hating penetration to wanting it– wanting the fullness and the sensation– that first night on this bed.  He still preferred other things, but this was good.

Sebastian looked at the long slim back, striped with pink, and the muscles working and flexing as he tried to hold himself up and drive himself back.  He knew that his eyes would be open, and almost completely black; his mouth open in that soft “O” and his cheeks flushing;the only thing covering any of his skin being Sebastian’s collar and Sebastian himself.

Sebastian leaned down and sucked a bruise into his neck, just above the plaque he’d fixed on the collar that said “Sebastian’s”, and listened to Sherlock’s beautiful voice beg and moan.

“Of course, Sherlock,” Sebastian growled in his ear. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,”  Sherlock gasped.

*

“Mary, are you alright?” John came up next to her with the handcuffs and his gun.

James called out, “John, mate… stay clear, let the sniper keep his line.”

They both glanced at the red dot and the angle from the window and moved aside.

John moved over and grabbed the man in charge– the one with the handcuffs; the one with a shoulder wound making John’s shoulder ache in sympathy– and forced himself to pull both of his arms behind his back.  He was impressed when the man only hissed and didn’t scream. He locked the handcuffs on his wrists. Only after that did the red dot waver.

The sniper dot flashed five times, and went out.  James moved to cover them from a different angle.

“We have company coming,” James said tightly.

“What the HELL is going on?” Dan said from the floor.  Sarah was curled in a corner, breathing hard.

John asked, “Mary?”

“I managed to hit the panic button to Mycroft before they shoved me in the car,” she said.

The man in handcuffs bit back a curse. One of the other men tried to move– James shot him in the knee.

“Oi, that’s a right mess then,” James sighed. “Doc? You got enough pull to keep me out of trouble? You know I shouldn’t have a gun.”

“I want to know about the SNIPER!” John snapped.

Mary fired a shot into the back of a man reaching for a weapon. “It would be nice to know, yes.”

John quirked a faint smile at Mary. “Somehow, I don’t think marriage counseling covers this.”

Greg Lestrade and several other people came in, staring at the carnage and at John and Mary.

Mycroft’s dry voice from behind them, “Well, isn’t this interesting.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are life  
> anyway i am dealing with migraines and panic attacks, please bear with me on the update schedule


	17. Chapter 17

Sebastian Moran finished exercising for the morning.  He reminded Laz to keep Sherlock working on the parkour skills until ten.  Watching Sherlock’s slim body move over a gymnast’s course was wonderful, even if he did have to let him wear clothes for it.

He wore clothing outside of the suite, and nothing but his collar inside of it.

The package of leathers and toys he’d ordered had arrived yesterday, but he was busy dealing with the web again, and had to put off opening it.  Sherlock had been furious. Sebastian went back to his office and sat down to work.

Several hours later, Sherlock knocked at the door.

“Come in.”

Sherlock  put down his tea, and a plateful of lunch‑ teaching the man to cook was a lost cause, but he could assemble sandwiches and  put prepared food on to cook, under supervision by Laz‑and folded himself into  position by Sebastian’s  feet.

He was supposed to be still and wait: on a good day that was difficult for him‑ this wasn’t a good day.

He leaned his cheek into Sebastian’s knee, and arched his neck to show off the back of the collar; a blatant invitation to leave his work and go back to bed, or the chair, or the floor.

“I’m afraid I can’t.  There’s a problem and I can’t take time away from it until I can figure it out.”

Having spoken to him, the limited amount of silence Sherlock was capable of broke. “What problem? You’ve been busy for DAYS!  I’m bored, and you‑“

“One of the pieces of the web is showing signs of a spy, Sherlock. That’s the sort of thing that got me captured.  We’re still sorting out who‑“

Sherlock got to his feet and leaned over the table, swiping pages on the computer and opening files.

Sebastian supposed he should be angry _‑ God knows Jim would have stabbed someone by now_ ‑ but…

“There. There’s your problem.” Sherlock stabbed a finger at a file on one of the people‑ admittedly, one of the top five suspects.

“How do you know?”

“It’s OBVIOUS!”

Sebastian looked at him thoughtfully. “Explain it to me?”

He listened to what sounded so much like Jim in one of his moods: unconnected bits and pieces that all seemed to make sense to Sherlock.

“Ok, can you tell me how to verify it? To test it? Because if I shoot the wrong person it’s annoying.”

“Oh.” Sherlock blinked and thought, pacing just a bit, hands twisting in concentration. “Yes.  If he did it you’ll find out he’s been meeting his contact at a restaurant: something silly, like they always sit at neighboring tables. They do the exchanges that way.”

Sebastian nodded and sent instructions. “Alright, that was helpful.  I have to wait for the results, so we may as well open your presents.”

“Your presents.” Sherlock smirked at him.

Sebastian caught him in his arms and crushed him in close, watching Sherlock relax from the pressure. “You’re my present.” Sebastian nudged his head back and bit at his jaw. “I bought you gift wrap.”

*

John insisted that James had gotten a pistol from the men who broke in, after the table flipped up.  Mycroft knew he was lying, but every veteran in the room backed him.  Mary simply stated that she had been watching John and dealing with a probable concussion.

“Sir? There’s a bullet hole in the window.”

John thought about lying, realized it was MYCROFT for God’s sake, and spoke up, “Sniper, apparently.  Wasn’t it one of yours?”

That caused chaos.  Mycroft made noises about interrogating the other veterans and John put his foot down. “I’ve known most of these men‑ and women‑ since my service, as well as a lot of people who left earlier, thankfully. We’ve all got a bit of PTSD, and I doubt getting taken off to answer questions will help anyone.  They can come in next week, can’t they?”

Sarah quietly stated, “I’m fully disabled, after an insurgent group broke into our encampment. Actually I need to go to the hospital and call my therapist. Really.”

Greg looked at the armed men having broken into the house, and heard what she wasn’t saying… they got her a ride in the front of a police car with Sally Donovan.

They didn’t get a chance to talk again for several days

“Spill it,” John said, sitting next to Mary in James’ house. James just shrugged, and brought out a very familiar scanner. After a moment he nodded and held out a box. “Phones go in here, mate.”

John put his phone in, so did Mary. John looked at him, “Does EVERYONE have one of those?”

James laughed, “No.”

Mary looked at him calmly, “Who do you work for, because it’s not Mycroft.”

“John didn’t tell me about you, just you were another vet.” James looked her over, “You aren’t that.”

“And you have track marks. But you obviously aren’t just a junkie.”

“No. I was though, until the Colonel picked me up.”

“Oh God, I haven’t seen Sebastian in ages! I wish he’d….” He stared at James. “Was he the sniper?”

“I doubt it. He was captured along with your Sherlock. They broke out together. That lot was after him.”

“What?” John almost whispered, shocked.

Mary stared at James intently, then at John. “Who’s Sebastian?”

“He was a sniper.  I met him when I got out there, and I liked him– what little I saw of him. He got dishonorably discharged for drug dealing, except all of his men told me that was rot.  He turned up here after I got discharged, helped me get back in touch with people, including James. Then after Sherlock… After I thought he was dead, Sebastian helped me pick up the pieces.  I’m probably still alive because of him. I was… not well.”

“You weren’t on heroin, Doc, you just needed something to do.  Your flatmate was a loon, but at least you kept busy, aye?”

“IS… even if he isn’t my flat mate anymore, don’t use the past tense, please.”

James looked pityingly at him. “Your wife keep her mouth shut?” He looked thoughtfully at Mary.

“Yes,” she answered. John nodded.

He shrugged. “He’s not past tense anything. I was with them both out in Italy.” He nodded. “Sebastian insisted he send you home a message– said it was cruel he hadn’t told you he was alive last time.”

“Sebastian…” John took a deep breath. “Why would they‑“

“Stop,” Mary said firmly. “We have a problem.”

“Yeah? We got a bunch, as far as I know,” James said, nodding.

“John, I’ll assume for the moment I can trust James… The point is, when those men broke in, I hit the panic button‑“

“Yes, you said‑“

“And then the fellow with the handcuffs told me he was associated with Magnussen. He knew who I WAS.” She looked pained.

John winced.

“I need to disappear, John.”

James looked at her thoughtfully. “The Colonel might be able to help‑“

“Might.” She smiled faintly. “But Mycroft can. He already offered.”

John looked at her. “So that’s it then?”

“If I stay, we’re BOTH dead, John.”

James just looked at her. “Well, you have my number. If that Mycroft fellow doesn’t work out, you can sign on with the Colonel; he’s good people.”

“I’d rather keep my distance from John, for his sake.”

James nodded, “Then don’t tell Mycroft about Sebastian, right? He wasn’t here anyway.”

She nodded. “I’m glad you have friends, John.  I’m glad they’re good shots.  These men weren’t after me, as me… they wanted you.”

“No, they wanted my friends.” John smiled tiredly. “I’ll drive you to Mycroft’s office, he’s probably found out a lot from that fellow by now.”

He looked back at James. “I’ll have more questions.”

James shrugged, “Might be able to answer, might not. Probably shouldn’t have told you what I did, but…” He looked pained. “You’re good people, Doc. You should be having a better life than this.”

*

Sherlock with his hands pulled behind him in a leather single sleeve was a beautiful sight.  Making him practice all the techniques of a blow job with both his hands pulled almost cruelly tight behind his back? Sherlock’s enthusiasm made up for any lack of skills. Sebastian coached him in technique, and helped him concentrate his mind on reading Sebastian’s responses. 

When Sherlock finally understood what was needed, it was stunning.  Pulse, muscular twitches, breathing, movement, the way someone inhaled and the way they turned their head, whether they looked, or didn’t look… all these things that Sherlock had never understood were suddenly clear. All he lacked was the response, and Sebastian had shown him a great deal already… and taught him more now.

By the end of that night, Sherlock was a fledgling incubus. He could have reduced almost any man to desperate pleas, and was working on the muscular control needed to accomplish some of the techniques

Obviously he had just needed the right incentive…

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answers, John realizes he has a thing for taking care of people, and Sherlock finds a way to get more time...

Mycroft’s interrogators got nothing of use from the man.  Mycroft considered, and walked into the room.

“I understand you met my brother, Sherlock.  He specifically requested I give you my regards.”

The man’s head came up and a flash of fear hit his eyes before he sneered, “Your brother the addict? He was begging for a hit after the second shot.”

Mycroft smiled faintly, and his eyes were ice. “Thank you for confirming your identity.”

He glared at Mycroft _‑ Anger, openly; he was losing his control under interrogation: good_ ‑“Well he’s dead by now.”

“Unlikely, but possible.  He was alive enough recently to kill‑ Jerry was it?” Mycroft said it casually.

“What? That was Moran…” The man whispered, confused.

“It could have been,” Mycroft nodded. _Who was Moran?_ “But Sherlock was with him then.”

“He kept him alive? Why? Moriarty wanted him dead…” The man had been in isolation, wounded, tortured, and now the confusion led to honesty. 

Mycroft’s mind moved faster than most people could process. “Moriarty’s heir is not Jim Moriarty.  You had him prisoner, I expect you know his reasons better than I do. Why do YOU think he would keep him alive?”

“I have no idea. We got Sherlock to try to get answers…”

“Ah, you expected my brother to be able to deduce Moran? Sensible, I suppose.” Mycroft smirked, “But from my personal experiences, Sherlock tends to be obstinate, always doing the unexpected.  If you thought he was dead, why bother Doctor Watson?”

“Fuck you!” he said, realization returning in a rush, too late.

“Ah, because you thought Moran still had him prisoner, or that he had escaped but was after Moran, and that having John would let you leverage that on my brother?” Mycroft shook his head. “That was never going to work.  Isn’t it more likely Moran is dead?”

“The sniper shots‑ no one else‑“ He stopped and glared at Mycroft.

“You’ve been very helpful, I’m sure,” Mycroft nodded. “You get the rest of the day to rest, and then my men begin all over. Pleasant dreams.”

Mycroft went back to his office.  _So Jim Moriarty’s heir was a sniper named Moran.  They had been holding him, and captured Sherlock to get answers… and somehow they ended up working together to break out, even after Jerry had…_

Mycroft turned his mind back to the question.  _They had been together in the escape, and Sherlock had been well enough to send a note‑ a note with the words to indicate it was genuine‑after the shootout on the coast quite some time later._

_There had been a sniper– the bodies showed that well enough‑ a damned good sniper.  So Moran was shooting, and Sherlock was sending notes… they were in hiding together._

_Somewhere, somehow, Sherlock‑ the man who had killed Moriarty‑ was in hiding with Moriarty’s heir…_ Mycroft could only pray the man didn’t hold a grudge.

*

Sherlock was unhappy that Sebastian had to go to the range today. He understood it, of course– a sniper needs practice, especially since he was still healing– but that meant he was stuck here alone.  He supposed he could go make some food, but… Sherlock glared at the office door.  He was always so busy.

He casually broke into the office, and cracked the password on the computer Sebastian used for work.  By the time Sebastian got home, Sherlock was sitting surrounded by printouts, with papers tacked to the board and five tabs open.

“How did you…” Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, forget that. WHY did you break in to my office?”

“You’re being inefficient,” Sherlock muttered as he called up yet another file.

Sebastian winced. “You CAN’T be planning on turning me in, really?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Is this the problem you’ve been fretting over?” He waved at a file and pointed at printouts tacked apparently randomly to the board.

Sebastian studied them. “Yes.  That’s one of the problems we’ve been having.  The usual pipeline has been increasingly risky and‑“

“Yes, well, I solved it.  If you repackage them this way‑“ Sherlock proceeded to outline a completely brilliant solution to the problem that had been  increasingly annoying since before Sebastian was captured.

Sebastian stared at it. “My GOD that’s brilliant!”

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock said, waving a hand. 

Sebastian got him some tea. “What’s this you have open?”

“Oh, well, so far you seem to be losing about twenty percent on the currency exchange when you’re laundering money in this operation.”

“Yes, we were trying to improve that.”

“I think I can get it down to twelve…”

*

Mary Watson’s funeral was a quiet affair.  John gathered up a few of her things and went back to Sherlock’s flat. 

Mrs. Hudson made him eat, and some of the men came by sometimes, and he didn’t know what to make of the fact that he found himself sleeping with one of Sherlock’s scarves, and worrying about him more than Mary.

_Mary never needed anyone_ , he finally realized.

He hoped someone was taking care of Sherlock, or at least making sure he ate.

*

The web trembled with vibrations.

Sebastian Moran had come back from being imprisoned at first tentatively, then with the certain steps that were his nature as a sniper: accounting for every variable, until one perfect final shot.

But lately… lately there had been genius.  Solutions to intractable problems that would have taken Moriarty himself‑if even he could have solved them.  Could his torture and escape have changed him so much? Or was there some further answer?

There had been at least one other prisoner with him‑ were they responsible? Had the sniper found a true heir? One worthy of Moriarty’s web?

It must be tested, it must be seen.

*

The last two weeks had been a dream.  Sherlock had solved the problems that were beyond his conservative, careful methods‑ not that he never took risks, but he liked to know what they were.  If Sherlock had tried to manage things, they would have collapsed in disaster, though, because for all his brilliance he couldn’t manage people for very long.

Sebastian was good with people.

Sherlock was brilliant with problems and puzzles.

Of course, Sherlock was still an addict, even if his addiction was safer.  Sebastian was right: solving the puzzles of the web helped tame his restless mind into something more manageable‑ as long as he got his reward and his rush too.

Sebastian thought about how much Sherlock loved pressure, and how much he needed the loss of control, and bought more ropes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pressure is a safety thing for a lot of people, and for some of my autistic spectrum friends it's a major way to ground themselves. so i borrowed that for Sherlock


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> surprises good and bad

Sebastian had Sherlock kneel at the foot of the bed.  He was practically vibrating with excitement and curiosity, and the repeated amused “Sherlock, head down,” only lasted for a moment before he was twitching and trying to look.

“If you can’t be good…”

“I can’t. I don’t have the patience– you know that– but I bought you HOURS more time,” Sherlock said grumpily from his knees, arms braced behind his back, holding his own elbows.

“True.” Sebastian smiled, “I’m far too soft on you, but I’m going to reward you despite yourself.”

Sherlock shot a look from under his lashes that would have dropped most people to their knees, “I thought you were going to punish me?”

“If I was actually ever going to punish you, I’d tie you to the bed and leave you alone while I worked,” Sebastian smirked.

Sherlock looked warily at him then.

“But as it happens, I’m in a marvelous mood, thanks to you, so…” He held up the coils of black rope he’d ordered.

Sherlock’s breath caught and a TRULY wicked smile played on the edges of his lips.

He worked slowly, enjoying Sherlock’s increasingly aroused and desperate breathing.   Sebastian laced the ropes over and under, holding him in a web of netting, an embrace of ropes. By the time the last diamond-shaped lattice of rope was wound over Sherlock’s body, his eyes were dark, and he looked like a debauched angel.

He made Sherlock go down on him‑ well, offered him the opportunity‑ with his entire body bound in ropes, unable to use his hands, and with his weight precariously balanced  between the ropes binding him to the bedposts and Sebastian’s hands. Every time Sherlock bent forward the ropes squeezed tight, and when he leaned back they loosened.

Sebastian was right, the constant pressure and release over Sherlock’s body was acting on him like a drug all by itself.  Sebastian was moaning and growling… Back and forth, pressure and release, Sherlock was completely incoherent, and his entire world was pressure and his mouth on Sebastian’s cock.  Eventually, Sebastian couldn’t stand it anymore and pulled him forward, hard‑ ropes tightening across Sherlock’s arms and chest and legs‑ and came with a shout.

He leaned on Sherlock’s shoulders to steady himself, Sherlock held up by the ropes;  Sherlock moaning, hard and desperate.

“I love you like this, you know.”

The light, amused voice from behind him shocked them both out of their haze: “Well It WAS a hell of a show.”

Sebastian spun, naked except for the bracers on his arms; Sherlock shook his head desperately to try to clear it; and both of them were staring at a very amused‑ and interested‑ Jim Moriarty, sitting in a chair, legs crossed at the ankles, watching them.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt.”  He raked his eyes over them both, and then looking rather avidly at Sherlock. “But I will want to hear the whole story, after.”  He sat back and smirked.

Sherlock was bound, utterly helpless, and completely exposed.  _Jim Moriarty was alive?  This had to be a nightmare, or drugs, or…_   His mind raced back as facts suddenly dropped into place, clues he had ignored, information he had overlooked…

He distantly heard Sebastian’s voice, “It’s good to see you again, Jim. I’d love to greet you properly, but I was in the middle of something– do I take it I can continue?”

*

Jim Moriarty‑ the man from the cold damp room, the man who had called Molly Hooper‑ had gone to his safe house in Germany to find out exactly how his heir was doing the impossible.  He had been doing everything short of revealing himself to get Sebastian rescued and to safety, but, with only  a handful of people who knew he was alive, it meant working extremely indirectly.

_Sebastian had kept that secret, at apparently great cost._

Sebastian had no means of contacting him directly, of course, not once he’d been captured and every contact number had been dumped and changed.  Even after his rescue, they made contact through codes and message drops. The message he’d sent had indicated that he was alive owing to help from a fellow prisoner: they had codes for that. Follow-up had indicated that the other had been taken with him, was still with him.

Jim had assumed this man‑ or woman‑ who had somehow also drawn the ire and attention of the cabal, was behind the sudden genius.  He was almost jealous that his Sebastian had found someone to help him… Of course, there was always the danger that they would betray him, try to overthrow him.

In which case Jim would destroy them– utterly, and slowly– genius or not.

Sebastian had found a place in Jim’s soul he didn’t know he had anymore.  Sebastian was comfort and solidity; stability and steadiness; the sun around which his wild orbit swung.

_The cabal would be burned to ashes for touching him._

He entered the house, and walked to the master suite. Slipped off his shoes… _next to Sebastian’s, and a pair of exercise shoes?_ He picked them up, then, and looked them over.  _Lightly worn, but then they couldn’t be very old.  Marks of gravel, and grass, and hard use.  Someone who was fit, then‑ or had been_ _before being a prisoner. That made sense; most of Sebastian’s friends were military._ He revised his opinion‑ _probably male._

He continued through to the laundry, and saw more exercise clothes. _Sebastian’s new friend was male, and slim, and tall…_ Jim smiled at that, wondering what they looked like together.  There were clothes waiting to be washed, and he picked up a shirt‑ _Sebastian’s_ ‑ and sniffed it.  _He always smelled like sunlight and gunpowder‑ he still did._   Jim felt a small part of his heart ease.

He slipped silently through the lock to the bedroom.  Before he saw anything he heard it.  _So Sebastian’s friend was more than a friend?_

Standing silently behind them, his anger burned white hot as he saw Sebastian’s back. He regretted the swiftness of any of their deaths, that he had suffered like that.  _Still, he looked well, if perhaps too thin, muscles working well beneath the scarred skin.  He had his friend bound in black ropes, and obscured almost entirely behind Sebastian‑ well, he was certainly slim.  He must be bound with his arms together, not outstretched, to hide so completely._

Jim moved to the chair for a better view, and froze in shock as he recognized Sherlock.

It was only that he knew him so well that let him recognize him at all; only the fact that he’d dreamed of a collar around that long, white throat; although in his dreams, Sherlock had been far less cooperative….

He’d had time to remove all traces of his actual expression from his face.  Time to watch Sherlock trapped like a spider in a web, and clearly beyond enjoying every moment.  Time to see the collar that YES he’d had made for him, in one of his more romantic moments, when he thought about stealing him away, not killing him….

_The collar with Sebastian’s plaque on it, under a very Sebastian-like bruise on the side of his neck._

By the time they were done, his jealous rage had been replaced with a near dizzying lust.  _God, Sherlock was stunning in bondage: my fantasies didn’t do him justice._

Sherlock was moaning, hard and desperate as Sebastian pulled away.

“I love you like this, you know.” Sebastian’s voice was rough.

Jim– always the showman, always wanting to control the reveal– couldn’t help but speak before they turned and saw him on their own:  “Well, it WAS a hell of a show.”

Sebastian spun, and Sherlock shook his head and tried to focus.  _Oh, his pupils were so far blown his eyes were almost black._ “Oh, don’t let me interrupt, but I will want to hear the whole story, after.” 

Sebastian smiled happily, and almost left Sherlock to come to him– then he looked at the way Jim was looking at Sherlock, and his smile changed to a smugger and crueler one. “It’s good to see you again, Jim. I’d love to greet you properly, but I was in the middle of something– do I take it I can continue?”

“Oh, by all means, Sebie… I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

*

It was physically painful to be pulled out of his headspace that hard. No longer hazed by lust, he was crashing into a cold, grey betrayal. Sebastian pulled him to his feet, adjusted the ropes.

“How long did you plan this?” Sherlock asked, closing his eyes, hoping they would kill him soon.

Sebastian was behind him again. Normally he would have leaned back into his warmth, if he could even think.  Now he just sagged in the ropes.

“Sherlock…” Sebastian was pulling his head back, his mouth next to Sherlock’s ear. “We didn’t. I had no idea he was here.”

Sherlock’s limbs felt like lead.

“Sherlock?” Sebastian moved around in front of him and forced him to look up at him.

For the first time, ever, Sherlock said his safeword, certain it would be ignored: “Satis.”

Sebastian stepped back, his face blank.  Sherlock simply let his head drop.  He was completely shocked when Sebastian cut the ropes and he collapsed out of the bindings.

“What?” Sherlock blinked up confusedly as Sebastian was picking him up and untangling him.

“He has a SAFEWORD?” Jim asked incredulously. _Just when I thought I understood what was going on…_

“YES, Jim, he has a safeword. I never heard him use it, but he has one!” Sebastian was wrapping Sherlock in a blanket, tightly.

Sherlock was trying desperately to understand what was going on, but his mind refused to engage.

Sebastian was putting him on the bed and holding him tightly, his arms wrapped around the blanket. Sherlock finally made his eyes track to Moriarty.

Moriarty had walked over to the side of the bed, and was looking more than slightly put out. “Sebie, darling, this is NOT the show I was expecting.  Care to fill me in?” _If he had a safeword, then was he here voluntarily? He couldn’t be, could he?_

“I’m guessing the shock was a bit much for him.”

“Well, it certainly LOOKED like you had him well in hand… I admit, I should be annoyed at you using my collar for him.”

Sebastian grinned that familiar wicked smile. “How could I not?”

Moriarty tried to look annoyed but kept smirking. He slipped out of his jacket and went to hang it up.

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock finally admitted. “You knew Jim was alive…”

Sebastian nodded. Jim just raised an eyebrow.

“Of COURSE he knew I was alive,” Jim said, from Sherlock to Sebastian and back again. _Sherlock really looked quite ill, although wrapped up like a burrito it was sort of funny._

Sebastian sighed. “You didn’t tell John, so it never occurred to you that Jim would tell me, did it?”

“What do you mean, he didn’t tell Johnny?”

“Apparently, John only found out when he came back to London and turned up alive.”

Jim stared at Sherlock. “What?! How could you DO that to him?”

Sherlock was having emotional whiplash already; to have Jim Moriarty shocked at him was just a bit much. “I was trying to keep him SAFE!”

Sebastian wrapped his arms tighter around Sherlock, and Sherlock gritted his teeth as he felt himself relaxing automatically into it.

Jim slipped out of the rest of his suit, folding everything neatly into place. “Oh, I see.  Sebastian? You actually managed to keep it away from him that I was alive?”

“Apparently. I’d stopped thinking about it once we got here.”

“Probably why it worked: you weren’t thinking about it.” Jim rolled his shoulders back as he slipped out of his shirt. “He thinks you set him up for me to walk in on, Sebastian.” He smirked down at Sherlock. 

Sebastian startled. “What?!”

Sherlock heard the sincere surprise in his voice, felt it in the tremors of his arms, the startled breath against his ear.

Jim looked down at him, wearing only his undershirt and boxers. “I didn’t know you were here, Sherlock, until I saw you.  I came to find out what genius he’d found that was repairing my web.

“Imagine my shock to find out that it was you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are my life


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> question for question, again  
> i'm still fighting migraines and hubby has a fever, so if updates run a bit behind schedule i apologize.

Sebastian chewed his lip, faintly. “Jim? Come around the other side of me please? I haven’t touched you in over a year.” Jim moved away and around the bed; Sherlock heard the rustle as he slipped off his underwear. “Sherlock? I’m going to unwrap you a bit; I’m still here.”

Sherlock wanted to argue, but he didn’t have the energy yet. He heard and felt Jim slide into the bed behind him, behind Sebastian, and started shivering.  Sebastian tightened his grip and pulled the covers up over them all. Jim Moriarty’s arm slid around Sebastian and onto his arm, brushing Sherlock; he tried not to flinch.

“Can I lean into your back, Sebie?” Jim asked, actually sounding concerned.  It was almost enough to shock Sherlock out of his misery.

“I’m not up to any impacts yet, and try not to scratch up my back, but yes, contact would be lovely.”

“I’m going to burn them to ashes,” Jim sighed pulling himself into Sebastian’s back, and finding his hand idly brushing Sherlock’s side beneath Sebastian’s arm. “Slowly.”

Sebastian rolled his head back, and Sherlock could feel Jim lick up the side of Sebastian’s neck. “Mine,” Jim said calmly.

“Yours,” Sebastian answered. “And Sherlock’s mine: I licked him first.”

Jim started giggling. Sherlock’s mind tried to process this, “What are you, five?  You licked me first?”

Jim cackled, “It’s something of an in-joke, Sherlock: Sebastian was the first man to have the nerve to lick me BACK.”

They just lay there like that for a few moments.  Sebastian eventually said, “Alright, old game again, Sherlock: Question for Question. Jim? Someone asks a question–you answer it and it’s your turn; you don’t and they try again.  I’m going to suggest three times and we go on to the next person, just to make it sporting… It was just the two of us last time.”

“That’s why you wouldn’t tell me how he got your attention.” Sherlock suddenly startled in Sebastian’s arms.

“What?”

Sebastian shrugged, “We were discussing why he never ended up with John.  He asked me how you got my attention; I told him it wasn’t entirely my information to share.” He smirked, “I did mention you weren’t nearly as shy as he is.”

“It wasn’t your information because he was still alive,” Sherlock said tiredly.

“Mm-hmm. Which was the one piece of information I was afraid you would figure out if you had to sit in on them questioning me.”

“So who starts?” Jim asked, sounding amused.

“Sherlock,” Sebastian said calmly. “He’s the one that got the worst shock.”

“Oh, I don’t know, darling, I just had the good fortune to be sitting DOWN.”

“The collar: you said it was yours.” Sherlock forced the question out; he was quite certain he didn’t want to know.

Technically, that isn’t a question,” Jim smirked, “but I’ll let it go. Yes, I had it custom made for you, ages ago. Got the measurement when you got rid of one of your shirts that was a bit snug.”

“WHY?!”

“Tut, it’s my turn.” Jim’s voice turned darker and uncomfortably sensual. “Sebastian, however did you get him into my collar, apparently voluntarily?”

“My collar: you left everything to me,” Sebastian smirked. “Besides, it has my name plate on it.”

“Technicalities.”

“I’d been telling him for weeks I wanted him in a collar; when we got here, I got it out and I ASKED him.”

“That’s IT?!”

Sherlock grumbled, “The blow job might have had a bit more to do with it than you think, but he was damnably convincing.”

“You have to admit you’re less bored, and it beats heroin.”

Sherlock just grumbled and huffed, which both of them took as agreement.

Sebastian smiled, “My turn, Jim.” He chuckled, low in his throat. Sherlock felt his interest trying to return to life– _damn it._ “How did you enjoy the show?”

“I should say, ‘from the chair.’ It would serve you right for being sloppy.” Jim snorted. “But…” He paused.  Sherlock found himself madly curious.  The man had made a collar for him which implied several not good things.  Jim finally sighed, “It was glorious, and far better than I imagined.  I had never thought about him looking so… enthused? Cooperative?  Most of my fantasies just had him looking rather desperate, or, at best, enjoying it despite himself.”

Sherlock tensed. 

Sebastian snorted, “Anyone can FORCE submission.  It’s an art to be WORTH it.”

Sherlock blinked a lot.

Jim snuggled in closer to Sebastian’s back, one arm uncomfortably draped over Sherlock as well. “You always were the artist, Sebie.”

“Round Robin rules: your turn, Sherlock.”

Sherlock blinked. Since he hadn’t been asked a question, he had assumed it was Jim’s turn, but there were certainly some questions… “Why?”

“Who are you asking? What are you asking?” Sebastian nosed into the back of his neck.  Sherlock’s mind started softening at the edges.

“Me, darling.” Jim said amusedly, and his hand trailed down Sherlock’s side over Sebastian’s arm. “It’s a continuation from the collar.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“Why?  Why not? You were a challenge, and clever. Most people are so very ordinary, they simply aren’t even worth thinking about, but there you were being utterly fascinating and quite worth my time… except… you were so dreadfully dull in some ways,  untouchable, uninterested,  on the side of the angels… I suppose I just wanted to get you a bit DIRTY, Sherlock, and see if there was any passion under that virginal  demeanor.” Jim deliberately ran his hand down to Sherlock’s hip, and felt the muscles twitch and shiver. “And I was right: you looked like sex incarnate in bondage…”

“I regret asking.” Sherlock tried not to let his voice shake.

“Stop it, Jim.” Sebastian sounded amused, a bit, but he so often did.

“He asked.”

“I mean touching.”

Jim’s hand pulled off Sherlock’s hip and rested back on Sebastian’s arm.

“My turn?” Jim purred.

“Yes,” Sebastian answered.

“Had you had sex? Before Sebastian?  You didn’t seem interested.”

“Yes, and I’m usually not,” Sherlock said tersely.

Sebastian ran his hands down Sherlock and pulled him in tighter. He could feel Sebastian hard up against him.  One hand reached up and tugged his collar lightly; Sherlock moaned despite himself.

“My turn,” Sebastian murmured. “Tell him about our first ‘experiment’.”

“That…” Sherlock’s voice was shaking, and he steadied it by will, “is not a question.”

“Alright.” Sebastian just sounded amused. “How did you FEEL during that first time?”

Sherlock paused. “Choose to pass. Try again.”

Sebastian laughed.

Jim asked, “What are we talking about?”

“The first time I went down on him.”

“Ooooooh! Damn, I would have liked to hear about it.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Since it’s still my turn… Tell Sherlock about the first time I went down on YOU.”

Jim did–in detail.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flash back to the first time Jim and Sebastian...

“Sebastian had been working for me for a little while.  Honestly I was at the point where I was testing him out, since a good sniper is someone I have to trust.  I half thought he was a spy‑ far too good to be true, you know‑ except that it seemed so unlikely.

“Anyway…”

~

“I could work better, Sir, if you told me what you wanted and got yourself out of the field,” Sebastian said reasonably.  _He always sounded reasonable._

Jim feigned a look of annoyance. “Yes, I’m sure. Just do what I say.”

“Yes, Sir.” He went back to lying on the floor in the abandoned building, waiting for their target.

And waiting…

And waiting…

Three HOURS later, Jim was going mad.  Sebastian Moran just lay there, idly watching through his rifle and occasionally otherwise, as though this was normal‑ just what you do on a normal day.

Jim had been pacing off and on, and at this point folded up a gum wrapper and experimented with hitting a spot on the wall.

Sebastian spoke for the first time since he’d said “Yes, Sir.”

“You keep making noise, you’ll scare them off or give away our location, and gum wrappers are evidence.”

“How can you just LIE there?” Jim hissed.  Unfortunately the man was right, but Jim was coming unraveled.

Sebastian rolled slightly to the side and looked up at him with a curious expression. “Because I’m a sniper.  If your other snipers can’t do this, then you should fire them all.”

“I’ve never had to wait with one of them this long,” Jim grudgingly admitted.

“This isn’t long.” Sebastian looked so amused. “Twenty hours– that’s a bit.”

“I’d eat my shoes.”

“Seriously, you might want to go on home and leave me to do this.”

Jim hated this. “I can’t. I need to verify the target in this case.”

“Then find something to do that keeps you occupied.”

“I’m going INSANE!” he hissed.

“With all due respect, Sir,” Sebastian said, glancing back through his scope, “you should get laid more.”

Jim stared at him.  _He had not just SAID that, he couldn’t have.  I should skin him.  Mind you, it was a very UN-spy-like thing to say, so it did suggest he wasn’t a spy, but – he DID know who he was talking to, didn’t he?_

“I am getting plenty, when I bother to, and speculating on my sex life is unhealthy.”

Sebastian rolled over again and idly looked him up and down.  Jim felt like… well, he imagined this was what people felt like when he looked at them.  He felt like he was glass.

“You’re getting sex, but it’s not scratching the itch,” Sebastian said with a raised eyebrow. “Mostly because you don’t let people get close enough to see YOU.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Three hours of watching you come apart.”

“You weren’t watching me, you were looking–“

Sebastian snorted. He got up and walked over, and somehow Jim was leaning back against the wall, with Sebastian leaning up far too close, one hand on the wall.

“I’m one of the best in the business, Mr. Moriarty. I think I know enough to watch the man behind me, especially after I almost died from not doing that.” He smiled lazily, and Jim was trying to ignore the heat pooling in his groin. “I’m a quick study.”

“Then you should know better than to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Threaten me.”

“Am I?”

Jim looked pointedly at the hand on the wall next to his head; when he looked back, Sebastian was closer. “Yes.”

“Maybe you’re only threatened because you don’t want to admit that you’d much rather have me fuck you right now than anything else, because you’re about to crawl out of your skin.”

“You have a lethally high opinion of yourself,” Jim growled at him, and realized several things: he’d drawn a knife; Sebastian didn’t seem to care; and he desperately wanted this man to fuck him.

Sebastian sighed, “God save me from people who don’t know who they are.”

“What?” _Okay, that was confusing._

“So? I don’t force myself on people.  Either say yes, or say no; but if you keep screaming at me that you want me to fuck you, eventually I’ll take that as consent.  It’s getting on my nerves.”

“I haven’t been–“

Sebastian just curled his lips up in a lazy smile, and Jim forgot about the job for a moment. “You don’t have any respect for authority at all, do you?” Jim asked.

“Sure I do…” The increasing smile was a direct challenge. 

Jim moved to knife him; Sebastian simply locked his other hand on the wrist before it moved more than an inch.

Jim was now being pressed against the wall by Sebastian’s arm folded across his midsection, locked on his opposite wrist, and his hand still resting casually against the wall by his head.

“So? Either say yes, or no.”

“Isn’t trying to knife you an answer?”

“No,” Sebastian  smirked.

Jim stared up at him. “And if I said yes?”

“Since I don’t have any lubrication with me, I expect we’d have to keep it to oral.”

“You expect me to give you a blow job?”

“No, not the first time. The first time…” That smile was a threat, and Jim felt his knees go a bit weak. “The first time, I’m going to take you apart and make you beg, and scream.”  He looked thoughtful. “So I suppose I should find you a gag.”

Jim felt himself snap out of it for just a second. “I hardly think you’re good enough to make me lose control.”

Sebastian leaned in and ghosted his lips across Jim’s and then to his ear. “You’re wrong.”

It took Jim three tries to be able to speak, “Alright, prove it. If you’re wrong, I’m going to gut you.”

“You’ll scare off your target.”

“No. I. Won’t.”

Sebastian shrugged, “So that’s a yes?”

“Yes.”

Sebastian let go of his wrist. “Put the knife away; you’ll be busy.” And started undoing Jim’s pants.

Jim put the knife away and wondered why he hadn’t cut the man’s throat yet. He supposed he would do it after the blow job; the thought amused him.

“Hands back against the wall,” Sebastian  said. Jim found himself doing it, and snarled, grabbing Sebastian’s hair.

Sebastian looked up, seemed to come to some kind of decision, and put his mouth like velvet on Jim’s cock, and then  it was like sliding into a solid wave of pressure, with Sebastian’s tongue guiding him all the way down.

Jim gasped–even the few times he’d been deep throated, they’d worked up to it.

Sebastian slowly pulled himself free and Jim was harder than he ever remembered being.

“Put your hands on the wall, and KEEP them there.”

Jim did.

Sebastian went back to work.

He used his tongue the way a surgeon wielded a scalpel: with precision and a bit of art.  Every time Jim moved his hands Sebastian would just growl slightly, and it wasn’t long before Jim honestly didn’t think his hands COULD move away from the wall; they felt glued there.

The third time Sebastian swallowed him down and moved back, Jim went from back of throat moaning to moaning and begging.  Sebastian just chuckled with Jim’s cock down his throat, and held him up against the wall when his knees buckled. When Jim finally came, he screamed‑ not a name, because honestly he was beyond words.

Sebastian got up, pressed chest first against Jim and looked down into his eyes.  Jim never even blinked; he was too far gone.  Sebastian leaned in and murmured in his ear, “Stay.”

And turned and shot the three men who had been frozen behind them, watching.

~

“And, well, really, after that, what could I do?”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playtime and rules

Sebastian had rolled onto his back, with Jim on one side of him and Sherlock on the other, while Jim was explaining. Sherlock’s pupils were dilated again, and his mouth was open in that perfect…  Jim focused across Sebastian’s chest and almost stopped breathing at Sherlock’s expression. Sherlock realized Jim was staring at him and started coming out of it.

“Right,” Sebastian  said. “You two need to learn to deal with each other.”

“I doubt that’s possible.” Sherlock closed his eyes, but couldn’t quite move away from Sebastian.

“Oh, I could deal with him just fine…” Jim purred.

Sebastian pulled his arm away from Jim. “Jim? Where are we?”

“Germany?” W _hat kind of idiotic question was that?_

“We’re in the bedroom,” Sebastian said, and there was a warning edge in the voice. Sherlock moved his hand to Sebastian’s chest and glanced up through his lashes.  Sebastian was looking at Jim with a sniper’s focus.

“Yes, but you’re playing with Sherlock.” Jim sounded sulky.

Sebastian sat up, looking down at Moriarty. “When we’re in the bedroom, who’s in charge?”

Sherlock’s world spun when Jim rather sullenly said, “You are.”

Sherlock started to say something, and had Sebastian firmly say, “Both of you be quiet.” So he shut up.

Sebastian sighed, “I should have known you two… Jim, go over to your drawer and get out everything on the left.”

Jim looked annoyed, and his eyes glinted. “You are NOT going to put me down in front of –“

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Then you can go sleep on the sofa for as long as you’re here and just LISTEN to me play with Sherlock.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Sebastian just looked at him.

“I hate you,” Jim snarled quietly, as he slid out of bed and started pulling things out of a drawer.  Sherlock noted he had a tattoo on his back, over his shoulder: it looked like a pattern of tiger stripes and appeared to be covering some scars.

“And get into the other drawer and bring me the single sleeve.”

Jim cocked his head, “That’s new.”

Sherlock hesitantly said, “That’s mine…”

“And you boys are going to learn to share,” Sebastian said firmly. He waited until Jim was back with an armload of things, and the single sleeve, then told Sherlock, “Go get the silk bag in your drawer.”

“We haven’t opened that one.” Sherlock couldn’t help but sound suspicious as he went to get it.

“I haven’t needed to, but I am beginning to be very glad I GOT it.  You two are like compound explosives, I swear: shouldn’t be stored in the same place.”

By the time Sherlock came back‑ since he was still a bit unsteady from the stress‑ Sebastian had Jim partially restrained.  He looked furious, but he wasn’t fighting.

Sherlock ended up staring as Sebastian pulled Jim into the single sleeve, and laced the straps in a complex fashion.  Jim was wearing a collar that Sherlock had never seen before, and was certain wasn’t comfortable, since it went from his collar bone to his chin, and apparently kept his head tilted up.

“I will skin you and make a lampshade out of you if you say even one‑“ Jim was cut off– still glaring at Sherlock– as Sebastian  gagged him.

“Not one word, Sherlock, or you spend two days tied to the bed with elevator music playing,” Sebastian said calmly, which did in fact stop Sherlock from the sarcastic comment he was about to make.

Jim and Sherlock both shuddered.

“There.” Sebastian stepped off the bed, leaving Jim kneeling up at the head of it, ridiculously upright for someone who normally sprawled, lounged, or draped on things.  He was glaring death at Sherlock.

Sebastian opened up the silk bag and took out a gag. Sherlock had been fairly certain that was what it was by the shape of it, but he still looked dubiously at Sebastian. “Why?”

“Because otherwise you’ll say something to Jim and I’ll have to actually punish you. It’s for your own good.”

Sherlock reluctantly let himself be gagged, and glared at Jim.  He was very glad JIM couldn’t say anything about it, especially given that Jim was far more restrained at the moment.

“Hold your ropes.” Sebastian tossed him one of the cords from the bottom bed posts. Sherlock started to turn his back to Jim and Sebastian stopped him. “Face him.” Sherlock froze. Sebastian sighed, turned him around, and starting winding the cord around Sherlock’s wrist. Sherlock shook him off and did it himself. He glared at Jim.

“Wonderful,” snorted Sebastian. “You two are the pair from hell.”

He went over BOTH of their non-verbal safewords, although Sherlock couldn’t see Jim’s and Jim couldn’t see his, because Sebastian stood in the way.  Sherlock was busy trying to guess what his opposition’s was, and he assumed Jim was likewise, so he missed it when Sebastian started the first swing.

The flog hit Sherlock’s back without him seeing it coming; he jerked and his eyes snapped open wide.

“Normally, of course, you’d be counting, and I’d know how far gone you were by your voice,” Sebastian said, swinging the flog down across the first stroke. “So I’ll have to estimate.”

The smug look on Jim’s face kept Sherlock from going under as he glared at Jim. He idly noted that Jim wasn’t jealous of the flogging _… in fact_ _he looked like he thought I was being punished?_

Sherlock thought back to the description of Jim’s first sexual encounter with Sebastian, and his reaction to the flogging, simply letting his mind process‑as it did‑ while the endorphins started their work…

_Jim wasn’t interested in flogging; he simply wanted to give up control.  He wasn’t an addict; probably didn’t need the endorphins_ … Sherlock realized that Jim actually thought Sherlock didn’t LIKE this, and he started to laugh.

“Better?” Sebastian said calmly behind him as another stroke landed across his thighs.

Sherlock looked at Jim and wasn’t glaring anymore; he just looked amused. Then he twisted the cords around his wrists once more, locked his hands, took a deep breath, and let go.

~

Jim was utterly furious at Sebastian for humiliating him this way. If he wasn’t so DAMNED glad he was alive… at least he gagged Sherlock.  _Like he was any better–as if he hadn’t been tied up and sucking Sebastian off when I came in._

Once they walked out of this bedroom, he was going to demand Sebastian get rid of Sherlock, or at least go lock him up somewhere else _… like a cage in the basement…  a small cage… with rats._

_Oh? So Sebastian was going to punish him? What for?_ Sebastian got out a flog, and Jim suppressed the shudder and fear under the smug satisfaction of waiting for Sherlock cringing in pain, and terror.  Sebastian knew never to flog him; he wondered what Sherlock had done to make Sebastian so cruel.

Sherlock had everything; was everything; had never had to be concerned with anything– and he never woke up screaming with nightmares of being beaten.  Jim would know– he’d bugged his flat, and had him watched– and the only thing‑ the ONLY thing‑ that Sherlock woke up in nightmares about was losing his few precious friends. He wasn’t afraid of Mycroft, or his parents, or of the children who sneered at him, or the police who called him freak–at most, he was mildly wounded, and just went off to his studies.

He’d never had to kill anyone to protect himself, especially not as a child. He’d never hidden from a lashing‑ hiding in a closet until he was found and dragged out. Never woken up covered in blood and vomit, wondering if he was going to die today.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped wide in shock when the lash fell; he hadn’t seen it coming.  He glared at Jim, trying not to let him see the pain, the humiliation…

_His eyes were going dark?_

_He started to laugh?_

“Better?” Sebastian asked, and there was no anger in his voice. It was the same as it always was.

Sherlock looked at Jim and wasn’t glaring anymore; he just looked amused. Then he twisted the cords around his wrists once more, locked his hands, took a deep breath, and… softened. His stance sagged, and he started to move with the blows.  Behind the gag, his mouth had gone slack.

Jim stared at the transformation: it was as if he’d been drugged. He looked behind him to Sebastian, who was watching Sherlock with that careful studying look that he had when judging when enough was enough.

Sebastian reached around and ungagged Sherlock. Sherlock MOANED, but it wasn’t in pain. “Please…  More…”

Sebastian resumed flogging him.

Jim’s eyes kept getting wider.  This was his worst nightmare: being beaten like this; having to hold his hands to the desk, or the table. Sherlock should be cringing, and broken, and begging Sebastian to stop. Jim wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

Sherlock’s eyes were open, and his mouth was open, and he was flushing and moaning. The sound of the flog hitting evenly across his back and legs was terrifying, but Sherlock wasn’t crying, wasn’t screaming; he was moaning and begging, “More…Oh, God… More…” His voice was softer, and warmer; when Sebastian stopped, he cried.

~

Sebastian watched the mix of terror and fascination in Jim’s eyes as he worked.  He would never strike Jim, ever.  Jim hit people constantly; part of Sebastian’s work with him had been trying to get him to stop, and he mostly had. Still, to strike JIM was to send him either into a murderous rage, or a cowering ball.  Even the discussion they’d had of flogs had inspired nothing but disgust.

“That’s what I do to people I don’t LIKE, Sebastian.”

He’d planned on flogging Sherlock, he knew, thinking it would help to break him.  _Without the trust? Without the consent? It might have, or might not._   Sebastian knew that this must be nearly incomprehensible.

He felt it when Sherlock stopped trying to fight it, felt it when his body started responding to the strokes by arching into it.  He took the gag out.

Jim was frozen, staring with wide eyes torn between terror and lust by the time Sebastian decided to stop.  Sherlock’s words were getting softer, and he didn’t want him completely out of it.

He stopped. Sherlock made small, needing, crying noises.  Sebastian had to help him to let go of the ropes. He pulled him in and kissed his neck. Sherlock twisted his head back and opened his mouth for a kiss, and Sebastian moved him, still kissing, to the bed.

~

If Jim could have moved, he probably would have run and not stopped, but he was hard as a rock and wanted to…

He wanted to own that look on Sherlock’s face.

Sebastian looked right at Jim like he knew what he was thinking _‑ and he probably did, damn it._

_~_

“Now both of you boys need a lesson: so here’s yours, Sherlock.” Sebastian pushed him down, limp and unresisting on the bed, and got out a vibrator.  He poured lube on it and pushed it in.  Sherlock just moaned and looked desperate at him.

The blood rushing away from his brain and to his crotch was making Jim dizzy.

Sebastian stripped the single sleeve off of Jim. “No touching.”

Jim glared at him.  Sebastian put Sherlock into it, then tightened the straps around him. He hooked his collar to the head of the bed, and smirked down at him.

“Here’s the deal, Sherlock: you say ANYTHING until I give you permission, and you’ll get nothing;  keep quiet– except for moaning, I suppose– and I’ll give you two hours straight tomorrow.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and he almost said something.  Jim wondered if he’d bitten his tongue with how hard he snapped his jaw shut. Sebastian ruffled his hair, and then pulled on it. “Good.”

Sebastian looked over at Jim, who was glaring at him, eyes blown black; if anyone else had been the target of that look, they would have run away as fast as they could.

“You know, I thought at first you two would have similar tastes: you’re so much alike.” Sebastian undid the collar, but left the gag in place. “But you don’t, really.”

He stroked down Jim’s back while Jim tried to glare at him. “Except in one thing.” He pulled Jim onto his lap. “Your turn.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good deductions based on best available data can still be wrong.

Mycroft’s people, with his help, broke the prisoner who had tried to kidnap John Watson. He told them everything‑ more than they could have hoped.

Sebastian Moran, Moriarty’s heir, had been his chief of staff and senior sniper.  It had cost them most of their best people to take him down, and exposed one of their best moles, but they’d captured him. He was allergic to opiates and many other drugs, so they hadn’t been able to use that against him as they had Sherlock. They had captured Sherlock in the hopes of using his abilities to read Moran as they questioned him.  Somehow, the two of them had escaped together to a villa on the coast. Guards had been sent from England, along with a doctor.  One of the guards was their man, and betrayed them. They arrived after the doctor was no longer needed, but the attack had somehow been expected, and they had lost. One of the dead was the head of their drug operation, who had dosed Sherlock.

Sherlock’s letter had mentioned ‘Jerry’, but it had been written before the sniper had managed to shoot him.

The doctor had been escorted back to England by James, who was one of Moran’s men– and also one of John Watson’s military friends.  He didn’t know who the doctor was, but it was a nondescript woman traveling under a false name.

There were two other people left in the cabal: Mycroft had their names now.

And Mycroft had to admit that the convenient information he’d been getting was coming from Moriarty’s web.

He put the full resources of his network into looking up this Sebastian Moran; it didn’t take long.  Mycroft stared in shock: John Watson knew him.  His brother’s friend, the one who had brought him the note, knew Moriarty’s heir.

Mycroft began to hope his brother would survive this…But Moran had been discharged for drug dealing and the cabal had already renewed his addiction.

  _Well, now I know how Moran is keeping him controlled._

*

Sherlock was lying on the bed, arms bound into a single sleeve behind him; the only thing concealing his body on the sheets was the black collar. He kept trying to close his eyes, to not look, and he was moaning through a clenched jaw.

While Sebastian was slowly taking Jim apart.

Jim didn’t want to watch Sherlock writhing on the bed– fine, yes he did, but he wanted to be responsible for it.

He’d watched Sebastian flog him, and, instead of screaming and begging him to stop, he’d begged for more– _it didn’t make sense._

Sebastian was stroking him, kneading him, massaging him, his muscles relaxing despite his best efforts.  He hated the man, sometimes.

“You two are so very much alike in some ways,” Sebastian barely whispered into his ear, as a hand curled around Jim’s throat. Jim felt his pulse start to race again and willed it down.

“Oh, he’s into pain… he wants the endorphins, but you both live on adrenalin.” Sebastian forced Jim down into the bed and sprawled on top of him, pressing just slightly into his throat, and whispering into Jim’s ear.

“You both, though, you both just want to stop THINKING…” Sebastian’s other hand was stroking Jim‑ too softly‑ and he tried to arch up into it, which just increased the pressure on his throat.

“You both need so much to be the center of attention– well, now you’re the center of mine, but it isn’t the control you normally want.” Sebastian kissed him, and increased the pressure on his throat just a little more, while his hand moved just a tiny bit faster.  Jim struggled to move into it, but he couldn’t.  He brought his hands up to claw at Sebastian’s back.

“No. Reach over your head. Grab that rope.”

Jim’s hands stilled, almost on their own, but he was NOT going to listen, he was going to punish Sebastian for – “Take the rope.”  He reached up and took the rope, his hands locked on it.  He distantly heard Sherlock moan, and the feeling that raced through him was indescribable.

Sebastian went back to murmuring in his ear as he kept him JUST short of air, “You just need to give up control, sometimes. Stop having to prove yourself, stop having to be perfect. Just listen to someone else for once, and stop thinking.”

Jim moaned.  Sebastian took out the gag; it made it easier to breathe.

“I’m here. I’m in charge. All you have to do right now is FEEL.”

Jim opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s face: his eyes were open, but he wasn’t seeing anything anymore; he was writhing on the bed, desperate for friction, making panting noises and moaning.

_I probably don’t look much better_ , was the last thought Jim had before Sebastian started working him open.

~

Jim moaned. Sebastian smiled. _The two of them had such very different voices._

Sebastian pushed into him and Jim screamed, throwing his head back trying to push more of himself onto Sebastian, but Sebastian was holding him tight, and his hands never left the rope.

~

Sherlock managed to focus just a bit when he heard the scream.  He had a vague memory of seeing Jim completely without a mask, without his defenses, without his armor: he was frightened, small, and lashing out, and wanted desperately to be cared for, but the only man in the world that he trusted to be vulnerable with was right here. 

He would want to kill anyone who saw him like that.  Sherlock managed to muzzily think “the feeling is mutual.” Before the vibration and the need swept him back under.

~

Sebastian hadn’t had Jim in his bed for almost a year, and, compared to Sherlock, it was so different.

Sebastian moved carefully, making sure to hit exactly with every push, using his hands to  massage and hold Jim in place, alternately controlling his air, and not, until Jim was reduced to feeling, and sex, and having to trust that Sebastian wouldn’t hurt him.

Sebastian felt it like a key turning in a lock when Jim let go– stopped fighting; stopped struggling; and went under.  Sebastian moved more slowly then, lazily, keeping Jim in that hazy pleasant space just before the orgasm.  This was what Jim needed, and it had been too long.  Sebastian kept half an eye on Sherlock as he let Jim drift under his control.

He finally let Jim come when he was certain he would drift right off to sleep.

Shortly after that, he let Sherlock do the same– although his release was more like passing out, and less like sleep.

Sebastian just managed to undo the locks on the two of them before the stress of satisfying two desperately needy geniuses caught up with him, and he sank into oblivion.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unhappy pets, mycroft and john beliefs that aren't true

Jim and Sherlock both opened their eyes before they were completely awake.  They stared at each other, minds filing away data while their awareness booted up.  Whichever one hit full consciousness first triggered the other and there was a moment where they both stared, horrified, at each other over Sebastian’s chest, and then they both rolled away off the bed in opposite directions, landing with twin thumps on the floor.

Sebastian practically levitated awake. “What?!”

He looked around for a threat, only to find the two geniuses gathering themselves up on the floor on either side of the bed–Sherlock sliding out of the unfastened single sleeve.

“Oh, Lord…” Sebastian scrubbed at his face. “You can both talk, or not, but you aren’t allowed to kill each other.” He looked back and forth, “Or maim, or whatever other letter of the law you were thinking about.  I’m going to take a shower: you can join me or not.” He stalked off, muttering darkly.

When he glanced back they were both sitting on the floor, staring at each other across the bed, like unhappy cats.

*

Mycroft had John Watson picked up and brought in to interrogation.  There was a very good chance that the man had been a plant of Jim Moriarty’s the entire time, and he had missed it, but that seemed wrong somehow.

Recognizing Mycroft’s men, John had allowed himself to be thrown into a car and driven to a warehouse somewhere without doing anything other than tightening his lips and glaring. He drew the line at being handcuffed to a chair, however.

“Mycroft, I have no idea why you are reverting to  old habits, but you can either tell your damned minions to back off, or I start breaking them.” He glared at the man holding the handcuffs, who looked startled at the sudden show of defiance.

Said minion, not taking this threat seriously, moved up to handcuff the jumper-clad civilian to a chair, and landed on his back with his breath knocked out of him. John handcuffed said minion’s leg to the chair leg before he could get up.

 He glared at the other minions–one of whom belatedly drew a gun– and yelled, “Mycroft? Not kidding!”

Mycroft came into the doorway at a slight distance. “Put down your gun, John.”

John frowned. He pulled the gun out and put it down on the floor, kicking it away. “What’s all this about?”

“Well apparently, I need better people, since they didn’t bother to remove that.”  The assorted minions looked a bit embarrassed, but they knew better than to protest.

Jon stood there, arms crossed, glaring at Mycroft.

“I just found out that you are–have been– acquainted with a senior member of Jim Moriarty’s staff.  It concerned me.”

“What?”

“Sebastian Moran.”

John laughed, “Of course I know Sebastian Moran, but he doesn’t have anything to do with Moriarty.”

“He’s running his operations. He inherited–”

“Bollocks,” John said, without even anger, just snorting. “Someone’s pulling your leg.”

_John was unquestionably sincere: he didn’t know_

“I’m sorry, John.  My brother, Sherlock, is with him and–“

“Yes, I know that. What’s that got to do with Moriarty’s people?”

“What?”

John rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Can we just talk about this like civilized people? Or do you only know how to talk to people you’ve kidnapped?”

Mycroft waved at his people and two chairs were produced, while they unlocked the unfortunate fellow from the other chair.

John sat down, glaring at any minions that got too close.  Mycroft paced briefly and finally sat down, leaning on his umbrella.

“Sebastian Moran is Moriarty’s heir, the one that has been holding the web together.”

John snorted, “Sebastian is one of the kindest, most loyal, most considerate people you’ll ever meet, and that’s utter rubbish.”

“When was the last time you saw Sebastian Moran?”

“Two weeks before Sherlock showed back up. Why?”

Mycroft blinked. “What?”

“When I got home from the war, he helped me get back in touch with some of the veterans.  After I moved in with Sherlock, we met for lunch or poker games, like the other veterans, when he was in town,” John said, shaking his head and smiling faintly, “and after Sherlock died, I fell apart.  Sebastian showed up at the flat and dragged me through a shower and made me eat something, and then he got all the other veterans to take turns visiting me. You’ve obviously been played.”

Mycroft stared at him. “Sebastian Moran was captured by a criminal cabal, the same people who abducted Sherlock. They took Sherlock because they wanted him to watch Moran being tortured–“

John gasped, looking like he’d been hit in the gut.

“–in the hopes he would be able to get more information. They shot Sherlock full of heroin to make him cooperate, but they couldn’t do that to Moran–“

“He’s allergic. It would kill him,” John said immediately.

“You know that?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Somehow they cooperated and escaped.  As far as I know, Moran is still holding Sherlock prisoner, somehow.”

“Sebastian isn’t holding Sherlock.  If anything, I’m damned glad he’s with Sebastian, because Sebastian has a lot of practice at bringing addicts down.”

“He was DISCHARGED for dealing drugs, John! And he has my brother!”

John’s face softened. “Oh.  Oh, of course you think that.” He shook his head. “That’s what he was discharged for, but it’s not what was going on.  I thought it was, until all the people he’d been helping ended up coming to me, and some of the other doctors… He’d been helping wean them off drugs rather than  getting discharged.”

“Isn’t it more likely he was addicting them?”

“James– you met James?” Mycroft nodded. “Sebastian got him clean.  He’s been clean for years, now.  Lots of the Colonel’s men testified to him getting people OFF drugs.” John looked pityingly at Mycroft. “I was glad to find out who Sherlock was hiding with, because he’ll get him clean, safely.  Withdrawal is ugly.”

“If Moran is such a wonderful person, then why is he holding Sherlock hostage?”

John frowned, “He’s not.”

“If he wasn’t, Sherlock would be back by now.”

John stared at him. “With a drug cartel hunting him on one side, and you ready to send him to his death on the other? Why would he come here? He’s safe where he is.”

Mycroft suddenly felt ill. “Of course Sherlock would think I would…”

“What?”

“I wouldn’t send him away, not… not unless I had to. I’ve been trying to find him.” He stared at John. “You think he’s staying with your associate because he feels safer?”

“Obviously.” John frowned, “And given…”  He glanced at the minions briefly, standing at a distance. “Given what happened to my wife, I can’t say he was wrong.”

Mycroft sat back in his chair and stared at John.

“Come with me.”

He got into his car, telling one of the men to “Clean things up and go back to work.”

Once he and John were in his car, he nodded to the driver and Anthea, and closed the partition.

“John, I can tell you don’t believe me, but the fact is that several members of the cabal DO believe that Sebastian Moran was Moriarty’s chief sniper, and is now running his empire.”

“Sebastian would never, ever, have–“

“One of you is wrong. Do you understand that I have to assume the worst?”

John thought about it. “Okay, assume the ridiculous notion that Sebastian is running Moriarty’s empire–and it is ridiculous– Sherlock felt safe staying with him.  He was well enough to send a note, and from what I was told–by James, yes, and if you bother him I will hurt you– it was Sebastian who insisted that Sherlock send a note at all, because he didn’t want me to worry like I did after Sherlock was ‘dead’ and no one told me!” he ended up shouting.

“Can you get a message to him?”

“Maybe. They ARE in hiding, and were rather emphatic about my being bugged, which turned out to be true.”

“Moriarty’s people have been sending me information about the cabal…”

“What?”

“I’d like to send some back.  I have the identity of the last two people in charge.  With them out of the way, it will only be a small business to hunt down the rest of the blackmail Magnussen had left–“

“Hunt down what?”

“What do you THINK I was doing? We’ve been trying to hunt down all his failsafes and deadman switches.”

“Oh.” John blinked. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

Mycroft handed him a single sheet of paper: it had names and information. “That’s what I have on the last two.”

“Right. Well, getting it to Sebastian also means getting it to Sherlock.” John sighed. “Fine. But I assure you, Sebastian has nothing to do with Moriarty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why yes i own cats, and yes i may very well have seen cats glaring across the bed at each other.   
> and also of course John doesn't believe a word of this. he can tel Mycroft does, but really.. Sebastian? nonsense


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ouch   
> unhealthy relationships and coping skills

Sebastian Moran, Jim Moriarty, and Sherlock Holmes were sitting down to breakfast. Breakfast was in the privacy of the master suite, which meant that Jim and Sebastian were casually dressed and Sherlock was wearing nothing but his collar.

Jim eyed Sherlock thoughtfully before turning to address Sebastian, “Not that I’m complaining of the view, mind you, but doesn’t he wear clothes?”

Sebastian looked thoughtfully at him, “No. Only outside of the rooms.”

Sherlock was watching the interplay between them with his best neutral mask: it made him extraordinarily hard to read; Jim had to admire the efficiency of it.

Jim uncoiled from the table, and any trace of the submissive pliancy was gone in an instant.

Sebastian stood up and moved away from the table, “I remind you, Sir, that I have been making video calls.”

Jim hesitated, and nodded. Sebastian looked thoughtful, “May I secure–“

“No.”

Sherlock was tense; this was entirely wrong, and suddenly very dangerous. “Sebastian?”

“Stay there, Sherlock, that’s an order.”

Sherlock stared at him, “I barely take suggestions–“ and choked off as he read Jim’s body language. Jim went to punch Sebastian hard in the gut and Sherlock went for Jim’s throat.

Jim somehow seemed to have thought Sherlock wouldn’t move, perhaps he thought that Sherlock would obey an order? But he hadn’t expected Sherlock to come in hard and fast, with the additional training both Laz and Sebastian had provided in the past several weeks.

Sherlock had taken Jim to the floor, hard; struck him across the face hard enough to hurt his hand; and was lining up for a lethal shot–when Sebastian  hauled him off of him.

Sherlock struggled reflexively for a moment before he heard the telltale hiss of pain from Sebastian. He heard Jim cough behind him and snarled when he realized that meant Jim was still breathing.

“Jim?” Sebastian’s voice sounded pained, and he gasped slightly. “Panic button? Laz has medical…”

“I’ll live.” Jim sounded dazed.

“I might not,” Sebastian wheezed, and fell.

Sherlock was hitting the panic button, overriding the locks on the door almost instantly. He spun to Sebastian– seeing no sign of Jim– and started checking him for damage: as he expected, one of his ribs was shifted somewhat.

Someone was suddenly there with oxygen and medical, and he looked up expecting Laz to see JIM of all people, blank faced and working.  Sherlock wanted to kill him, but Sebastian came first.

“If he dies, I’ll kill you,” Sherlock snarled as he got pillows and blankets to help support Sebastian’s body.

“If he dies, you won’t have to,” Jim said, eerily calm. “What happened?”

“You hit him in his ribs, what do you THINK?!”

“I’ve hit him harder–“

“It’s only been a few weeks since his ribs set!”

Jim reared back with a shocked expression. Sherlock suddenly realized he didn’t know.

“You know, how you could not know… You knew they tortured him…”

Laz ran in and skidded to a stop, staring at Jim Moriarty.

“Don’t just STARE you imbecile!” Jim snapped.

Laz got to work. Before much longer, they were taking Sebastian away in an ambulance.

Sherlock sat huddled on the floor, wrapped in a blanket.  Jim walked over and re-secured the door before walking slowly to a chair and sinking into it.  They both sat there lost in their own worlds for a time until a chiming sound from the office caused both of them to look up.

Jim was getting up to check when Sherlock went past him and unlocked the door, pulling up the message with a practiced ease.

Jim stared at him as he set about correcting a problem, redirecting personnel, and sending orders to target an annoying leak.

“What are you staring at?” Sherlock hissed as he typed.

“I hadn’t thought he let you manage things… directly.”

“Usually he handles matters that require face to face or voice, while I handle anything that can be done without. It’s faster.”

Sherlock finished typing and stood up. “You tried to kill him.”

“No,” Jim shook his head slowly. “It’s how we’ve always been– outside of the bedroom, anyway.”

“You didn’t know about how injured he was?”

“I could see his back!”

Sherlock glared at him. “Molly must have told you.  It’s obvious now you were her ‘contact’. That’s why Sebastian wouldn’t let her talk to me.”

“I couldn’t contact her, after. Just a message that he was recovering.” Jim closed his eyes, looking pained.

That was what finally convinced Sherlock. The fact that Jim closed his eyes when Sherlock was standing right there.

“Two badly broken ribs–you hit them– cracked bone in the arm, some damage to his knee and leg.  His knee still won’t hold his weight as well as he likes.” Sherlock glared at him, “On top of cuts over the majority of his body, and being whipped.”

Jim gritted his teeth and glared at Sherlock, “Did he act pained? Did he give even YOU the slightest clue last night?  It’s the first time I’ve seen him in over a YEAR!”

“No,” Sherlock admitted. “But he scarcely did in the week after we were on the run.”

They sat in silence for hours. Eventually a phone rang, Sherlock dove on it.

“Laz?”

Jim watched as Sherlock’s face cleared.

“When can he leave the hospital?  It’s not safe,” Jim said, loud enough for Sherlock to hear, quietly enough that the phone wouldn’t pick it up clearly.

“Tomorrow?” Sherlock questioned into the phone, then nodded. “Get him back as fast as possible.” He hung up.

Jim was watching him with the most neutral expression Sherlock had ever seen– assessing him. Sherlock was becoming uncomfortably aware of his nudity and pulled the blanket around himself a bit more.

“You’re not his pet.  I was beginning to think you were after last night, but you let him HIT you… you LIKED it…” Jim sounded utterly confused.

“I like the endorphins,” Sherlock glared at him. “The adrenalin, the endorphins,–combine that with the sex and the psychology of it, and it’s like heroin or cocaine without the side effects. You apparently just need the loss of control.”

Jim snarled at him, “If you say one word…”

“I believe we each have similar opinions,” Sherlock hissed at him.

Jim sat there and looked between Sherlock and the computer room. “Why haven’t you run?  I wanted you to work with me– you refused.”

“Sebastian is far more persuasive.” Sherlock grumbled, “Besides, he was busy all the time. If I helped him, he had more time.”

Jim suddenly cackled. “You’re running my web, in order to free up more of his time to have sex?”

Sherlock retreated into his blankets a bit more. “It’s worth it.”

Jim rolled onto the rug, holding his sides, laughing. Eventually he managed to talk. “Well, I can’t argue your taste in partners. He’s very good at finding out what people want, what they need.” Jim’s smile flickered, “No matter how much I tried to hide it.”

“Powerful people giving up control is practically a trope.”

“It is. It’s another reason to hate it. I hate being ordinary.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Sherlock stared at him, “Oh God, now I’m agreeing with him.”

“What?”

“Sebastian said we were too much alike.”

“I said we were the same.  I said that in the beginning, Sherlock.” Jim smirked, “Given that, I suppose I should have just sicced Sebastian on you in the first place– would have saved some time.”

“You’re not his pet, either.”

“No, I can’t be; I’m his boss.” Jim sighed, “We’ll have to move.  If the wrong people get hold of the hospital records…” Jim nodded, “England. I have more people there.”

“Difficult, given that my brother will scoop me up and throw me out to die if he catches me.”

“What?”

“I was sent away, after I shot Magnussen. It was very likely to kill me.”

Jim sat up. “Well first of all, Sherlock, no one is allowed to kill you except ME!” He paused thoughtfully. “Well, Sebastian I suppose, now.” He shook his head. “No. If he insists on that, I’ll shoot him.”

“He’s my BROTHER, what makes you think I’d let you shoot him?!”

Jim frowned, “He sent you off to die.”

“And I’m upset about that, but that’s MY business.”

“I can help you shoot him?” he said dubiously.

“I don’t WANT to shoot him!” Sherlock shouted, and then grumbled, “Punch him maybe.”

“Well my holdings are strongest in England, America, and a few places that are just inconvenient right now,” Jim said. “And two doctors I can trust with him are in England.”

“Two?”

“Molly and John.”

“You are NOT getting John involved in this!”

“John already KNOWS Sebastian–“

“I know.”

Jim blinked a lot. “Right, well he already knows Sebastian, so he just doesn’t have to know I’m involved.”

“He knows Sebastian and I were hiding together–“

A bit of music started playing from a phone in the office. Sherlock cocked his head, “That’s James.” He got up and answered the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> outside of the bedroom Jim is inn charge, usualy. and right ow he just wanted to reestablish that, but he had no idea of the ribs, and Sherlock's never dealt with them together


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heading back to London.

“Hello, James,” Sherlock answered the phone. He heard the startled intake of breath– _James would have expected Sebastian, of course._

“I’ve got company with me,” James said. _His voice was calm, startled but not fearful_. “Can you talk to Doc Watson?”

Sherlock froze. His eyes snapped to Jim.  _No, of course Jim would be quiet; no one knew he was alive._ Jim waved at the speaker.

“Putting you on speaker, alright?” Sherlock said trying not to let his voice shake.

“Right,” James’ voice came on the line. “Going on speaker over here, too.”

There was a lot of movement and Sherlock heard John’s voice asking “What?”

“Sit DOWN Doc, trust me,” James said.

Sherlock smiled, “Don’t bother, James, he’ll just jump–“

“Sherlock!?” Sherlock heard the table rattle as John jumped to his feet.

“John. I- I’m very glad to hear your voice.  Why are you calling though, it’s…” he glanced at Jim, “odd timing.”

“Oh, God, I’m glad to hear you. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Is… Is this secure on your end?”

“Very, very peculiar, but…” Jim held up a pinky in a “pinky swear” gesture and smirked. “I guess.”

“Guessing enough to talk about  Mycroft? And the Colonel?” John asked.

“Sebastian, certainly.  Errr… Oh, alright, yes,” he said grumpily.

James’ voice, “Usually the Colonel would be on by now; where is he?”

“That’s the odd timing. We were discussing the need for a good, secure doctor. There was… There was an accident and one of his ribs got reinjured.  He went to the hospital and that’s not safe. We need to move again.”

“Shit.” That was James AND John.

John spoke up, “How much do you know about what’s been going on here in England?”

“Not much,” Sherlock admitted.

“First of all… just so you know… Mary is…”

Sherlock interrupted, “You don’t sound stressed enough for it to be serious, but you’re upset.”

“FINE! Alright? We were already having problems, what with her shooting you, and all-“ Jim gasped and glared at Sherlock. Sherlock waved a hand at him: _Later!_

“Go on.”

“We were getting counseling as best we could… Anyway, Mycroft wanted me in protective custody, but I wanted to use me as bait… for the people after you.”

“That was stupid.”

“It worked, BUT… they grabbed Mary.  And the man that grabbed her knew who she was: he’d been working with Magnusson.”

Jim clapped a hand over his own mouth to muffle the swears– luckily, Sherlock was also snarling.

“She’s officially dead, Sherlock. Mycroft got her away.” John sighed, “She can’t come back.”

James chimed in, “I did tell her to come talk to the Colonel if that didn’t work out.  They dragged her to our monthly poker game as a hostage. She’s a good shooter!”

“I have some PERSONAL experience with her shooting,” Sherlock grumbled. “I wasn’t impressed.”

John interrupted. “Mycroft has names and information on the last two leaders of the cabal….”

Sherlock nodded, “I’ll want those.”

“But… “

“But?”

“Okay, James? Sherlock? Whoever else is there? Try not to get upset?”

James drily said, “Oi, well, that’s never a good start.”

“Mycroft thinks Sebastian Moran was working for Moriarty– that he’s his heir. Apparently the cabal thinks so, too, and that’s why they’re going after him.”

Jim was wheezing into his hand.

“I know it’s ridiculous–” John said, just as Sherlock said, “He’s only JUST figuring that out?”

~

There was a long, long pause until John said, “What?” very quietly, and sank into a chair.

John could hear someone’s muffled laughing in the background.  He stared at James, who was looking sort of sympathetic at him, but not at all shocked– and not like he didn’t know the name.

“Sherlock? Sebastian?  My FRIEND?!”

Sherlock sighed, “Stop laughing you– oh, not you John. Yes, Sebastian Moran is… is Jim Moriarty’s heir.  He was one of his best snipers. “

“But he… Oh God, Sebastian?”

James walked over and put a hand on his back. “The Colonel was doing his best to keep you safe, Doc.”

Sherlock sighed, “I spoke with him about it, John.  When he found out Moriarty was targeting your flatmate–me– they came to an arrangement.  Sebastian was the sniper assigned to you, so no one would shoot you accidentally.  He could have easily taken you out at the pool: I’ve seen him shoot.”

“He was at the pool?” John stared at the phone.

“Yes. And he was never going to shoot you.” Sherlock’s voice sounded very firm. “The others were in real danger; you never were– well, not from that.”

“I had an explosive VEST on!”

“Sebastian apologized about that, it wasn’t his idea…”

“He’s… but you were taking that DOWN?!”

“Yes. They figured it out after a bit; I never asked how long after. Sebastian could have taken all of you out at any time…  You were meeting with him, weren’t you?”

“Yes… and James… Oh God.” John stared at James. “You KNEW?”

“I only ever saw Mr. Moriarty one time, John,” James said calmly. “I worked for the Colonel, but yes, I knew who he worked for.” He sat down and handed him a bottle: John drank it without caring what it was– it was cola. “Part of my official job was to keep an eye on YOU– to make sure you were safe, as much as I could with you chasing after Sherlock.”

Whoever had been laughing in the background appeared to have stopped, or left, and Sherlock said, “John… I think I can safely say that YOU at least are safe, as long as you don’t throw yourself in the way of anything… and I’ve been working with Sebastian- HE doesn’t have any reason to be a problem for me, or vice versa.”

John saw James’ grin and try to hide it.

“What?” he glared at James.

James muttered, “The Colonel and his junkie strays…” Then his grin turned into an open smirk, “But I think he REALLY likes this one.”

“What?”

Sherlock, in that dry, clinical voice, just stated, “We’re having sex: it’s quite good, much better than I thought. Can we go on with business now?”

“You… You’re… but you DON’T!” John sputtered.

“Can we PLEASE discuss this once I’m back in England? It will be difficult enough to smuggle me in with my brother–“

“Your brother says you can come back. He’s not trying to catch you or send you anywhere– no guarantees about anyone else.”

~

Sherlock sighed, “Well that’s a help.” He nodded, even though John couldn’t see it. “I’ll be in England with Sebastian as soon as possible.” He paused. “I’m… I’m very glad you’re safe John.  I trust James: I know he’ll look after you.”

“I don’t need looking after; someone has to look after YOU.”

“Yes... well…” Sherlock had a sudden, almost PAINFUL, flash of homesickness. “I’m quite looking forward to being home.  Truly.”

*

John told Mycroft that Sherlock had agreed to come back, as long as he distinctly looked the other way until he was settled. He didn’t mention Sebastian.

Mycroft agreed, which shocked John and made it clear how worried the man was about his brother.

“John, the important thing is making certain he’s not relapsing.  They got him–“

“Sebastian will have gotten him cleaned up; being home will help– let me look after him.”

*

They got Sebastian out of the hospital early and Jim had arranged a rather circuitous travel plan to get back to England.

The one thing Sherlock hadn’t considered was that this meant wearing clothes.  He had only worn workout gear since they got to Germany, and most of his time had been spent nude.

Sebastian grinned from his bed on the train. “It looks good on you, though.”

“It feels peculiar.” Sherlock tugged at his cuffs. “I hadn’t thought about how odd clothing is.”

Jim just smirked and crossed his ankles, looking impeccable in his suit as always.

Laz was sitting quietly on guard duty, but he kept looking at Jim whenever he could– Sherlock could tell the man was still stunned over his apparent resurrection.

“Oh, do just ask, Laz. I **probably** won’t shoot you, Sebastian likes you,” Jim snorted.

“Sorry, Sir… uh…”

Sebastian sighed, “ASK him, or ask me, but stop fidgeting.”

“You two?”

“Have sex?” Jim raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“I told you THAT,” Sebastian snorted.

“So all the other rumors?”

“I told you,” Sebastian said calmly, “the boss hates to be bored, so he’s probably tried anything at least once; doesn’t mean I know it all.”

“Laz, be a good boy and stop poking into my business, or I’ll try some of the things my partner wouldn’t survive,” Jim said, idly looking out the window.

“I’ll… guard the door,” Laz gulped and went out.

Once they were out, Sherlock–still tugging faintly at his clothing– said, “Speaking of sex. You owed me two solid hours for keeping my mouth shut that night.”

Sebastian winced. “Well, yes, true. Then I ended up in hospital and now I’m not quite up to it.”

Jim brightened up, “I could pinch hit, Sherl–“

“No. I have utterly no interest in you.”

Jim pouted, “You used to.”

“No, you used to have an interest in me– still do, I expect– but I don’t TRUST you.”

Jim frowned, “What’s that got to do with it? Scary can be fun.”

Sherlock looked at him, just looked. “Fine, you get tied down and in a collar to, say, Mycroft. How about that?”

Jim shut down. “Absolutely not. I spent enough time in his dungeon, and it was only fun intellectually.”

“My point.”

Jim frowned, “Well I thought I might owe you some since Sebie being laid up was almost my fault.”

“IT WAS your fault.”

“I wouldn’t have hit his ribs if you hadn’t jumped me.”

“I JUMPED you because you HIT him!”

Sebastian pitched his voice to command tones, “Back DOWN, both of you!”

They both sat back grumbling.

“You were saying, Sherlock?” Sebastian asked.

“I was saying that you still owe me two hours, and I’m charging you fifteen minutes a day interest,” Sherlock said. “It’s twelve and a half percent interest– quite reasonable, and about what you lost on the money laundering after I finished up.”

Sebastian stared at him. “You’re charging… interest?”

Sherlock nodded and picked up his computer. “I’m not even compounding it; it’s just on the principal since it wasn’t your fault. I think it’s quite fair.”

Jim wouldn’t stop giggling the entire way to England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may miss a few days updates on this one, but yes it is continuing.  
> NOTE: i am closing this here as story 1, it continues in story 2 "London Bridge"


End file.
